


Cyx

by Desvenlafaxine



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-12-19 18:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 164,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11903253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desvenlafaxine/pseuds/Desvenlafaxine
Summary: An Au Ra hailing from the Azim Steppes finds herself violently thrown from her homeland into a world entirely unlike her own. Here, in the land of Eorzea, she will forge her own path and find her true calling: that of a warrior, ready to face foes both old and new.Currently at: A Realm Reborn's MSQ, pre-airship unlock.(This story is a very slightly canon-divergent; some canon elements and ideas will be expanded upon through headcanon and extrapolation, while some details, mostly from Legacy, have been changed very slightly to better suit the narrative.)Eventual NSFW scenes might be a possibility - if / when that happens, a separate "story" containing the unedited chapters will be uploaded.Special thanks to Xomniac, Gorgoneion, theMiragePrismatic, kaleidoscope89 and Jamyl Sarum from Spacebattles for providing proofreading, ideas, and more in the way of help; the story wouldn't be nearly as developed as it is without them.Further thanks to Muroxxas, pon_katt, Dreyakis, SirHades, Khellendrosiic and SuperMegaNickfor providing inspiration / their characters for use in this story.





	1. FLIGHT

**PROLOGUE ONE: FLIGHT**

**  
** **8TH SUN OF THE SECOND UMBRAL MOON**  
**YEAR 1558 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA**  
**Isari, East Othard Coastline, The Ruby Sea**

  
  
"Eeja, why do we have to wake up? It is still dark," the little girl said, tugging at her blanket.  
  
"Baatarsaikhan, there is no time. Please, get up!" Her mother didn't wait for the girl to get out of bed; rather, she simply picked the girl up, grabbed her emergency satchel, slung her over her shoulder and ran from the yurt. The entire village, the girl thought, was up and about and the sun was not yet up! They were loading their things into the carts, and every horse in the village was out of stable and loaded with bags.  
  
"Eeja, where is aawa? Why is everyone going for travel?" Her mother set her down outside their yurt and hushed her, kneeling down.  
  
"Baatar, you must stay here." Her mother stepped forward to an archer-horseman who had just ridden into the camp proper. The archer had blood on him, and his quiver was empty. "Nergui, where are the others?"  
  
The archer slid from his horse, pulled a skin from his mount's bags and drank heavily for a moment. "Lost, Chinjaal. Many to the Garlean bastards and their cursed guns, others to the night. Gan took a few of the others, said he had a plan to hold them off a bit longer."  
  
Her mother scowled and stepped forward again; her horns nearly touched the archer's face. "You let Gan take them on a fool's errand? Nergui, you know how stubborn-"  
  
"-he's your mate, not mine," the archer said, shaking his head. "I tried to stop him, and he threatened to cut me in two if I did not move. He said he and the others would meet us at the docks."  
  
"Nhaama above, if he does not return I will-"  
  
"-I know, I know, I know. You can do as you like if he does not show, but I beg you to wait until we are on the sea."  
  
Her mother said nothing, simply backing away before turning back to the girl. "Baatar, we must leave."  
  
"The Garleans?" she asked, doing her best to keep the fear out of her voice.  
  
"Yes, little warrior. Aawa is going to meet us before we leave, okay? You must stay very close to me, and hold on tight. Like we practiced." Her mother touched heads with the girl. "If anything happens to me, you must find the clansfolk and follow them."  
  
"Yes, eeja."  
  
"Good, little one. Let us go now." Chinjaal led her daughter to the outcropping where the horses were waiting, grabbed her pack from their family's post and slung it over her shoulders. She helped Baatarsaikhan onto the horse; Baatar liked the horse very much. She had painted yellow on him like the horsebirds she had seen in a book of the lands beyond the steppe, and so her mother had named the creature Shar.  
  
"Hello, Shar," the girl said, patting his mane. "Are you afraid?" The horse simply shuddered. "I am afraid too, but eeja says it is not good to be scared all the time."  
  
A few minutes later, her mother mounted the horse. "Hold on tightly, Baatar," she said, joining the rest of the clansfollk at the edge of the village. Most of the others were mounted on horse, but some, like uwuh Otgon and the youngest of the children were in carts. The entire village left as one, leaving behind the small village that was the only home Baatarsaikhan had known. It faded, first into a small speck, then to nothing, as the clan rode into the night.  
  
She fell asleep, lulled by the rhythm of horse-hooves on steppe.  
  
When she awoke, they were at the waters and the sun was beginning to rise. They were at the town of Yanshara, where sometimes traders would come from from Kugane, and on the rarest of occasions, from Eorzea. Baatar had never seen a ship from Eorzea, but her eeja had bought the book with animals of Eorzea drawn within many sleeps ago, when she was still a baby. That was the book with the horsebird, the green-spike, the slime and even the dragons! Baatar checked her satchel and sighed in relief, because her book was amongst the few luxuries she was allowed to put inside the bag. She looked up and saw that the villagers were on the outskirts of the town; nobody had come to greet them, but she could see many masts from the biggest ships - they had  _metal_  on them! - she had ever seen. She rubbed her eyes, and tapped her mother on the back. "Eeja, is that big boat where we are going?"  
  
"Yes, little warrior," her mother said with a big smile. "That boat is from far away!"  
  
"But what about the steppe?"  
  
"It is dangerous, too dangerous to stay now," Chinjaal said, turning to face her daughter. "Some of the other clans are too stubborn to leave, but remember what I taught you?"  
  
"Uhm...you always have to be - no, uhm, do what's right. Even if it's not the happiest thing."  
  
"Exactly. Such a smart girl," her mother said, rubbing her hair. Chinjaal paused as one of the warriors, this one carrying a sword and shield, rode up to her. "Askaa? What's wrong?"  
  
"Town's empty," said the man. "And one of the archers saw the decks of the boats; they're near empty, too. Someone gestured at us from the deck of one before being pulled back down - this reeks of a trap."  
  
"Mmm. Take Baatarsaikhan to Idree and round up some of the scouts. We'll take a look around, see if we can't divine what's going on. Any sign of Gan?"  
  
"I'm afraid not, Chinjaal." The man shook his head, and stared off into the distant steppe. "I do-" He stopped suddenly, glancing at Baatarsaikhan. "-don't know where he is. He should be here already."  
  
Her mother made a face that she hadn't seen before. It looked angry and sad at the same time.  
  
"We will make do. Have the men meet me at the front when we are ready." The swordsman rode to the side, and plucked Baatarsaikhan from Shar's saddle.  
  
"Hello, little warrior," Askaa said. "Come now, I'm to take you to Aunty Idree."  
  
"Aunty Idree is mean. She never lets me play," Baatar said, pouting. "But please don't tell her I said that."  
  
Askaa laughed -- grimly, Chinjaal noted, though her young daughter seemed unaware -- and patted her on the head. "I promise not to tell, but you must listen to me like you listen to your mother, okay?"  
  
"Okay!"  
  
"Good. Chinjaal, I'll be back in a moment." Askaa rode over to another woman, this one with long hair, who sat alone on her own horse, and plopped Baatar onto her saddle. "Idertuuya, Chinjaal needs scouts for the town - wanted you to watch our little warrior here."  
  
"Of course. Hunt well, Askaa. Baatarsaikhan, do you need to relieve yourself? Are you hungry?"  
  
"I am thirsty, Aunty Idree."  
  
"Well, I have just the thing," the woman said, passing her a skin. "I saved a little bit of tsai from before, if you would like."  
  
Baatarsaikhan drank the tea and ate a piece of jerky, then read from her pictures-book. She was about to ask to get off the saddle and go for a walk to the other villagers when a tall, hulking man that Baatar did not recognize rode up to them. "Chinjaal found Gan and the others - and a bunch of the sailors - locked up in a jailhouse. Garleans are everywhere, and there are even some on the boats."  
  
"Damnation," Idree said. "She's made a plan?"  
  
"Indeed. The scouts will work to free as many folk as they can. Second they can't stay hidden, they'll sound the horn and we're to move everyone as fast as we can onto the docks. We help clear out the boats of the Garleans, get everyone on board and make our escape."  
  
"And if things go wrong?"  
  
"We improvise. Come on, we need to get ready to move." The man rode off without another word, and Aunty Idree turned to Baatar. "Did you understand that, little one?"  
  
"Um, eeja found aawa? But there are bad Garleans in the town, and we have to wait until, uhm, the horn is blown. Then we are okay to go on the boats?"  
  
"Yes, little warrior. Stay close."  
  
Baatar waited, and waited, and waited, when suddenly the horn was blown. The entire village's group took off into village; Baatar heard the sounds of fighting but was too busy holding on tight to Aunty Idree to notice what was going on. She could not remember what was happening when they reached the docks, because it was too loud, and there was fighting and blood everywhere; all she remembered was Aunty Idree turning to throw her off the horse, and someone carrying her away. There was more shouting, and the terrifying sounds of the Garlean guns - bang, bang, bang - and she fell to the ground, blood in her eyes. She could not cry, and so she wiped the blood from her eyes to see Nergui dead before her; she was standing on a ramp to one of the boats, not sure how she had gotten there or what to do. But her mother had said that she had to get to the boat, so she climbed the ramp as fast as she could. She was about to board the ship when something grabbed her tail and flung her to the deck; moments later, a cluster of metal balls shrieked into the wood next to her. A bald hyur, one of those hornless folk, raised a shield and knelt behind it next to Baatar.  
  
"Fucking hells that was a close one. Oi, kid, you're not hurt, eh?"  
  
Baatar didn't quite understand all the words he was saying through his strange accent, but she shook her head.  
  
"Good, good. Listen, lass, stay low - crawl, like - and get yourself over to the big fella, the one with the axe over there, right? Can ya do that for me?"  
  
She nodded, noticing a giant man with red skin beckoning at her.  
  
"You stay low, you'll be fine. He'll bring you into the ship and you'll be nice and safe. Go!"  
  
She crawled, doing her best to ignore the screaming and shouting and the blood on the deck that was staining her tunic. She crawled and crawled and crawled, forever it seemed like, until finally she reached the giant. He picked her up and carried her down into the belly of the ship, and pointed at a bunch of crates in the corner. "Get yourself tucked in behind those there boxes, and you'll be safe. Anyone tries to get you out of there that you're not sure about, you ask'em what they put in the grog last moon. If they don't say oranges, you don't move. Good?"  
  
Baatar nodded and crawled behind the crates, and curled into as small a ball as she could make herself.  
  
It seemed like another day when the shouting and fighting stopped. She heard people calling to her, but simply curled up tighter and thought of home. "Lass," a voice said, "it's safe to come out! Come on, where'd Pfarberk put ya? Bloody idiot, probably told her a code or summat. Oi! Lass! Did the big red fella tell you t'ask a question?"  
  
She snapped out of her shock and frantically put as much calm into her voice as she could. "What, what did they put in the g-grog last moon?"  
  
"Put in the g- ha! Pfarberk, you salty old shite. Oranges, lass! Nisfa thought he'd make that stuff taste better, ruined the whole batch, he did."  
  
Baatar stood on her toes and looked over the crates to find a hyur standing in front of the hatch, sword at his hip and a shield slung over his back; a few of the villagefolk were with him, looking at her with relief and sadness.  
  
"Is it safe now?"  
  
"Safe as it gets on a boat like this'n, milady. Come on, we've got to see about getting you cleaned up and see if we can't find yer parents."

Baatar followed the hyur - who had dark skin and golden hair pulled into a strange-looking ponytail - up out of the depths of the creaking boat and up onto the deck. Despite her best efforts to remain calm, she couldn't help but stop and marvel - for, in every direction, there was nothing but water! Blue as the sky, crystal-clear and as far as the eye could see.

 

"Mmm, beauty, 'aint she? That'll be the sea, lass." The hyur turned, smiled at Baatar and pat her on the head. "There's nothing like the open sea. But we'll be on this here ship for plenty a day - so come on, let's go take a look-see at the adults, alright?"

Baatar tore her eyes away from the sea as best she could - a difficult prospect, given that they were on a boat - and followed the man up a small flight of stairs to a higher deck. There, many of the auri she'd ridden with, mostly adults but with a few children mixed in - and some she hadn't seen before or in a long time- were clustered together, seated, nursing wounds, staring off into space. Other sailors were handing out food, bandages and mugs of drink; Baatar marveled at how different they all looked. She recognized the sailors from her old pictures-book: tiny lalafell as short as she was, giant roegadyn who towered over even the biggest of the adults she knew, miqo'te with strange, pointy ears and tails that were furry instead of scaled.

"Pfarberk!" The man escorting her shouted, waved and sauntered over to the big, red-skinned roegadyn who was kneeling by several of the injured adults - aunty Idree among them.

"Oi, Arnar, glad to see you found our little lady," the giant said, smiling. "Well, lass - Baa-tar-sai-khan," he said, sounding out the name, "come here and let's see if we can't find kith or kin amongst our fellows here."

"Oh, little warrior," Idree said, clutching at a heavily bandaged arm. "Oh, come here."

Baatar walked over and plopped herself down, cross-legged, in front of her aunt and frowned. "How come the others are not looking at me?"

"Shite," Pfarberk hissed, leaning in to whisper into Idree's ears. "You mean-"

"-she would find out soon enough, master sailor," Idree replied with a sad, distant look on her face. "Young ones are smart - she would figure out soon enough, and I would not be the one to lie to her."

"Why are you whispering?" Baatar asked, confused. "Where's eeja? Where's aawa?"

"They did not make it to the boat, little warrior," Idree said, expression furious and eyes welling up.

"But where are they?"

"They...they died, holding the soldiers back. Killed by the Garleans, so we - you - could all escape on the boats, Baatar."

She blinked.

"No."

"I'm sorry, little warrior."

"NO!" Baatar stood up, shouted, stamped her feet and rushed at the red giant, swinging her tiny balled-up fists at him. "NO! NO NO NO! You turn the boat back! I want eeja and aawa back! Make them come back r-!"

"-shh, lass, shh, it'll be alright, shh, it's okay, it's okay," Pfarberk said, overpowering the tiny girl with a hug. "Shh, shh, it's alright lass, it's all right."

"Baatarsaikhan, you can cry but you will not attack the sailor!" Idree commanded.

Baatar stopped struggling, but she did not stop crying.

She did not stop crying for many days, it felt like.

She recalled being in the dark, groaning hold of the ship, swaddled in blankets and being passed around, sung to by both the sailors and her own clanmates. Rocked back and forth by the waves. She only awoke from her daze to relieve herself, to eat whatever food was put in front of her.

She did not know when she stopped crying, but, many suns and moons later, she stopped at last. When her emee had died - she never knew her övöö - she had cried for a while and had been sad for many many days after, but this was different. Now, it was like she had cried all the sad out of her and Baatar was only angry, furious, full of simmering rage at the Garleans who had stolen her family and her land and her world.

One night, finally calmed enough to speak, Baatar joined some of the sailors and her clansfolk around a small fire set up on the highest deck of the ship. The adults looked mournful as she arrived at first, but when they saw the fire in her eyes many smiled thinly, nodding with obvious approval.

"Baatarasaikhan," aunty Idree said, hoisting Baatar onto her lap. "How are you this moon?"

"I am sad," Baatar said slowly. "But...but eeja and aawa are gone now, to the Moon Mother. They have to stay there, and I have to stay here. So I will try not to be too sad."

"It is okay to miss your family, little warrior, but not so much that you do not live," Yesui - the best cook in the village - said with a warm, knowing smile. "You should never not be sad about your eeja and aawa - but they would not wish you to be forever crying."

"Yes," Baatar replied. "Did they...did they kill many Garleans?"

The auri around the fire nodded, mumbled words of prayer and assent - and even some of the sailors seemed to be nodding, too.

"The ones that stayed behind, lass," one of the tiny-men - a lalafell with a tuft of black hair and a curly mustache - said with awe, "they fought like nothing else. If those damned Garleans hadn't shown up with their blasted walkers they'd be with us."

"Nothing like it," said one of the miqo'te, swishing her tail. "Like the best of the gladiators on the bloodsands, I'd wager."

"They died fighting," Pfarberk - who was sitting next to Idree - said slowly. "Dying's not something ya want, lass, but if you have to go....they went with honour."

Baatar thought, thought, and thought. She thought while they ate strange stew and drank strange juices, and soon they had to go back under the decks into the ship to sleep - but on the way down, Baatar spotted Pfarberk standing by the railings of the ship, staring out at the endless waters, sharpening his axe with a whetstone. He paused as he heard Baatar's soft, light footsteps, and turned.

"Lass, shouldn't you be getting some shut-eye?"

"Yes, I am going."

"Then get! I'll not be getting in trouble because you wanted to stay up," the red giant said with a knowing smile.

"Okay, but I want to ask you a question."

"Just one, lass."

Baatar pointed to the axe which towered over her. "I want to fight the Garleans and I want to fight with that."

 

* * *

 

 **11TH SUN OF THE THIRD ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1558 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA  
Open Waters, The Sea of Thavnair**  
  
Over the next weeks, the mighty metal ship sailed to and fro, making stops at ports big and small all along the sea; Baatarsaikhan and the other auri weren't allowed off the ship at all but the smallest of the ports - the adults said that the Garleans might be out there to get them. Even so, she was ever so excited to see all sorts of strange lands. The sailors who stayed on the boats during their time in port even made sure that Baatar and the other children - Enkhjargal, Oyuunchimeg, Gerel and Ganzorig - even got toys and trinkets from each port. Still, that was not enough to occupy the entire day, and so the remaining adults continued to teach the children life skills, most important of all the traditional weapons of the steppe - bow, axe and spear. The sailors even helped the adults teach letters and numbers - for while many of the adults knew of Eorzean script, the sailors were much better suited to teaching such things.  
  
Without her parents, it fell to the clan to raise Baatar; aunty Idree, who had always been her second-mother, took on her new role with passion. Every night, she would tuck Baatar beneath heavyset blankets and tell her the legends of the steppe, tales of great heroes and, with a book gifted to her by Pfarberk, even read to her the stories of Eorzea. Soon Baatar became enthralled by the tales of sailors just like the ones who had rescued her and kin. She knew, on some level, that one could conceivably live on a boat for most of their years- the Orben wove great reed-boats to ride the Blue Jewel which spanned the length of the Steppe, but that was a far cry from these stories of swashbuckling sailors who rode the seas, slept on boat and spurned the safety of solid ground.  
  
A month into their journey, Baatar found herself free of lessons; Gerel and Oyuun were both napping, Enkh and Ganzorig were reading about fish or something boring like that, and Baatar hand a mind to find answers to some questions. She waited on the top deck for the time when the sailors had finished their tasks for the mid-day and would stop to take lunch. She approached Pfarberk and happily plopped down next to him, pulling the metal water-canteen she carried out of her satchel along with a piece of salted trout. "Pfarberk," she asked after taking a few bites of her fish, "aunty Idree read to me and said that you and your sailor-kith spend many years on these boats." She nodded vigorously. "Yes, she read that you stay on these waters for many, many months, even a whole year without spending more than a moon or two at shore!"  
  
"Aye, lass, it's true," the giant replied as many of the other sailors nodded. "I'm one of the older ones - been more or less living on a boat since I was a small boy. You grew up on the steppe, an' I grew up on the high seas. Arnar," he said, pointing at the dark-skinned hyur who'd brought her topside so many weeks ago, "he was even born on a ship much like this'n!"  
  
"What? No," Baatar said, frowning. "I do not believe it."  
  
Arnar and the gathered sailors laughed, smiled at Baatar's tiny expression of disbelief. "Now, why'd Pfarberk have cause to lie to ya, lass?" Arnar replied, shrugging. "'tis true! Me pa were a...sailor, let's say, and so was me marm. Born on the open seas, I was."  
  
Baatar thought about this for many minutes before concluding that, yes, Pfarberk was probably not lying to her. "Okay," she replied, "but how did your mother nurse you? On the sea there is no milk but the one from your mother's breast. How did you grow so big without sheep or goat-milk? And," she continued, a thoughtful expression on her face as she pointed at her half-finished meal, "you cannot eat only fish from the sea to become strong."  
  
"Well, lass, we've had plenty of meat, some of it fresh, and plenty-a-cooking done by both our own and your kin," Poyi, the mustachioed-lalafell, said with a look that resembled that of a teacher. "We may eat plenty of fish and salt-meat but that's not everything. Not for Kukujisu's lack of trying, the stingy ba - fellow."  
  
"I suppose," Baatar said with a frown. "But aren't you sad? There is so little space, even on this big ship. No fields to run in, no mountains to climb."  
  
"Well, there's work to be done, and when the work's done there's resting and grog," one of the elezen sailors, Anaux, pointed out. "And there may be no fields or mountains aboard the  _Big Kweh_ , but I've seen you and the other children run laps up and down the decks. Once you're older, too, you can always climb the masts and the rigging, eh? Plus, on your steppe there's no endless water, no ports to visit, no far-away lands to sail to, no endless sea to look down upon."  
  
"Hmmmm." Baatar thought some more, and rubbed at her horns, stroking them from the sides of her head to the tips which stopped just past her mouth. "Maybe you are right. When will I be allowed to climb the masts and swing along the rigging? I and the other children, we watch and it looks very fun."  
  
"Fun, aye, but more than a little dangerous," Poyi noted. "It takes training, work, and a little courage to run the ropes like we do, Baatarsaikhan. When you're bigger, stronger, older - and if you still have a taste for watercraft and a life on the seas - I'm sure one of us, or any of the sailors back home in 'ol Limsa'd be happy ta show ya."  
  
"Little?" Baatar sputtered, pointing a finger at the lalafell. "I am as big as you!"  
  
"Right, but not nearly as strong," Poyi replied with a smirk. "And don't you try to deny it, little lady - I'n the others watch you kids train with weapons with us an yer elders. Strong, my arse."  
  
"That's a curse," Baatar replied. "Aunty will be mad if she hears you talking like that."  
  
"Shite. I mean - look, if you were so tough could you do  _this_?" Poyi leapt forward and hoisted the little girl above his head, and began running a lazy lap around the gathered sailors. Baatar yelled in delight as the lalafell carried her around the topdeck, 'til a minute or so later the ride ended and she was set back down upon solid deck. "So! When you can do that, then we'll talk about you climbing the masts, how about."  
  
"I will be bigger and stronger than you before you know it, Poyi!" Baatar said with her hands on her hips. "And I will carry you and the others 'round the  _Big Kweh_ , I promise!"  
  
"You'll not be carrying me anytime soon," Pfarberk said, joining the other sailors in laughter, "unless you want a good case of being crushed, lass."  
  
"Well we shall have to see about it in many moons," Baatar replied simply, smiling. "I say I shall be as strong as any roegadyn!"

 

* * *

 

 **10TH SUN OF THE THIRD UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1558 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa, The Rhotano Sea  
**  
"Look, Baatarsaikhan," Idertuuya said with a warm smile as she carried the little girl aloft on her shoulders. "We're finally at our new home!"  
  
"Wow," Baatar replied, eyes wide. "It's so...big!"  
  
The  _Big Kweh_  was nearing the grand city-state of Limsa Lominsa, and Baatarsaikhan could come up with nothing else to describe the sight she was taking in. The Dawn Throne, home of the Oronir and mightiest of the Steppe's structures, seemed tiny in comparison to the sprawling white towers which stood before her; their metal-tipped spires seemed to touch the very skies. Even the sailors seemed to be in higher spirits than usual; their two-month journey had seen them avoid Garlean patrols, navigate rough waters and, perhaps most terrifying of all, sail the last quarter of the journey entirely sober after several of the grog barrels splintered during a rough bout of storms. Still, things had gone as well as Idertuuya or any of the other auri refugees could have imagined, all things considered: two had died on the journey - Medekhgüi, who had been nearing eighty-six years and had not expected to survive the journey, and Nayantai, who had fallen from the boat during a storm and drowned before the sailors could retrieve her. Otherwise, the refugees were in good health, with only two of their number currently being ill; most auspicious of all, they had even given witness to one of the widows, Agujam, give birth to a healthy baby boy, who she had named Dalaichin - seafarer, in the Eorzean common tongue.  
  
"So, Limsa, is she to yer liking?" Arnar asked, dropping down from one of the ship's sail-riggings to join the refugees at the railings.  
  
"It is so beautiful," Agujam said, smiling as she swaddled Dalaichin. "Never in my years would I have dreamed of a city so spacious and tall upon the waters."  
  
"So it is. Baatarsaikhan, you will have to stay here for a moment, okay? I needs speak with Captain Yorsa for a moment," Idertuuya said, setting Baatar down.  
  
"I'll take you to Nifsa," Arnar said with a nod. "You be good, Baatar!"  
  
"Worry not," Agujam said with a smile. "I'll keep an eye on her - and you are a good girl anyways, right, Baatar?"  
  
"I am," Baatar replied proudly, before pulling out her pictures-book from her satchel. She flipped through the pages until she reached the drawing of Limsa Lominsa, and held it up so she could see both the drawing and the city at the same time. Her mouth remained askew in silent awe as she realized that the pictures, if anything, were less grand than the real thing; one of the sailors had explained that the pictures-book was, in fact, actually quite old and that amongst other things the city of Limsa had grown quite a bit since the time the book had been made. Soon the  _Big Kweh_  was pulling alongside other boats and Baatar watched as the other vessels' occupants stared in a mix of wonder and confusion at the sight of the Xaela refugees standing atop the  _Big Kweh_ 's deck; Baatar waved at whoever she could see, and to her delight more than a few people waved back.  
  
All the sailors and refugees watched in anticipation as the ship pulled into port - and oh, Baatar thought, what a port it was! Nothing like the ones they'd visited on the long voyage to Eorzea; Limsa Lominsa's port was massive, dozens of piers and docks stretching out, each one holding ships ranging from tiny fishing rowboats to massive metal-plated behemoths double the size of the  _Big Kweh_. There was even a small crowd of onlookers watching the ship pull in, the varied citizens of Limsa (all dressed in strange, foreign garb) talking amongst themselves at the incredible sight of the refugees. Standing at the front of the pier, seperated from the crowds by a cordon of red-jacketed soldiers carrying sword, pike, and gun, was a tall, white-skinned and white-haired roegadyn woman clad in a black coat - who, save for her evident height, looked so very different from the red-skinned and brown-haired Pfarberk - who had such an aura of power and prestige that even Baatar could recognize her importance. Once the ship came to a halt, the ramparts were lowered, and the white-haired woman strode aboard the ship with bodyguards following behind her. The sailors all walked over to meet her - and all of them saluted, Bataar noted with a mixture of confusion and awe.  
  
"Admiral," Captain Nifsa Yorsa said, saluting the woman who towered over his tiny lalafellian frame. "These'll be the refugees we pearled ahead about."  
  
"At ease, gentlemen," the woman replied with a small smile. "Xaela refugees of the Azim Steppe, it is my honour to welcome you to Eorzea. I am Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn."  
  
The lady's accent was strange, Baatar thought.  
  
She also carried two pistols on her belt which, despite their ornate decoration, also looked  _very_  well-worn.  
  
"Thanks upon you, Admiral," Idertuuya said, stepping forward and kneeling as she bowed her head. "I know that for refugees to simply show up on your home without warning must no doubt be difficult."  
  
"It's quite alright, Miss...?"  
  
"Idertuuya Kha, Admiral."  
  
"Idertuuya, you have no need of apology. I cannot speak for every Eorzean but I assure you that in my city, any victim of the Garleans will find, at the very least, an open door and a bed to sleep on."  
  
"The Dusk Mother's blessings upon you. Your kindness is boundless."  
  
"That's enough flattery from you." The Admiral surveyed the ship, and noticed the children who were standing at the rear of the refugees. "I see you have children with you - while I cannot promise you a life of luxury, they will not starve, or, Twelve's blessings, be shot by Garlean troops. Come, let's get you lot off this ship - Eynzahr," she said, glancing at another roegadyn man, this one green-skinned, "please escort these folks to Maelstrom Command and see that they're taken care of for the immediate future. We shall discuss your futures after you've had a proper meal and perhaps even a bath."  
  
"At one, Admiral," Eynzahr replied with a snappy salute. "If you'll follow me, please."  
  
Baatar followed the other refugees off the ship, watching the gathered crowds behind the cordon of red-jacketed soldiers, mouth askew and her eyes bright. She took five steps on solid earth, promptly tripped and fell face-first into the ground.  
  
"Baatar!" Oyuunchimeg shouted, covering her chest with an arm. "Are you alright?"  
  
Baatarsaikhan Kha got to her feet, looked around proudly and grinned at Idertuuya. "Yes, I am alright! More than alright."

 

* * *

 

Merlwyb watched the refugees go - and even managed not to laugh at the bright-eyed girl who hadn't managed a solid ten paces on solid ground before promptly tripping on herself.  
  
"Two months at sea for a landlubber girl. It was going to happen to at least one of them," Captain Nifsa Yorsa said with a smile. But I'll dispense with the pleasantries, Admiral - you'd like my report?"  
  
"In my office."  
  
"Of course. Men, you're free to do as you like - stay out of too much trouble and don't go spending all our wares on booze, damn you. Clear?" Nifsa said with a grin.  
  
"Clear, cap," the sailors replied.  
  
"Alright, get to work offloading our booty and make sure  _all_  of it gets to the storehouse in one piece. I'll not have you lot breaking the damned cargo like last time. Pfarberk, with me."  
  
Merlwyb, Nifsa, Pfarberk and the Maelstrom soldiers guarding the Admiral walked off the boat and walked at a brisk pace through the streets of Limsa Lominsa; many of the citizens in the street watched the Admiral and her retinue go with smiles and waves, some of which Merlwyb returned.  
  
Merlwyb specifically ignored a group of black-jacketed privateers who shot glares at her, and even deigned not to simply pull her pistols and shoot them on the spot.  
  
_Slaver scum. My men will have you found, chained and shot before the night is done. I will not suffer your presence in **my**  city.  
_  
Passing through the city's aetheryte plaza and waving at the artisans and merchants who clustered beneath the towering blue crystal, the group made its way over towards the central elevators to the city's Aftcastle and rode the elevator up to Merlwyb's office. Nodding at her saluting bodyguards as they stopped outside her office doors, Merlwyb entered her office, took a seat, and gestured for the lalafell and roegadyn privateers who had come with her to sit in the worn chairs sitting opposite of her.  
  
"So, Captain Yorsa. Your thoughts?"  
  
"If they're spies, Admiral, they're Twelve-damned actors of the realm," Nifsa replied, scratching at his mustache. "You want my honest gil, they're refugees of a very real sort. Fucking Garleans, if you'll pardon my language, they slaughtered a bunch of 'em. Those kids you saw, only one of 'em has a full set of parents with the group."  
  
"Let us assume their innocence, then," Merlwyb replied thoughtfully. "There are only twenty-six of them, five children and one newborn, if my eyes served me."  
  
"Correct, Admiral."  
  
"Hmm. Twenty-six refugees is no matter for a city like Limsa - and while I have no doubt there will be no shortage of charlatans and blackguards looking to take full advantage of our new arrivals, with a little guidance I'm sure all of them will be able to find work - honest work - of one sort or another. Twelve bless us, at least we've nothing to do with that business in Ala Mhigo."  
  
"You're not worried, Admiral, 'bout you looking soft or nothing?" Pfarberk asked.  
  
"You're presuming to question my actions?" Merlwyb replied, her tone low.  
  
"No, ma'am. Just thinking about how the louts might react 'bout this," the roegadyn replied.  
  
"It makes Limsa look good for little cost. The Maelstrom - I - take in refugees who have faced suffering at the hands of the Garleans. It costs little in the way of gil to feed twenty-six souls on a Maelstrom diet, and even then we shan't be boarding them forever." Merlwyb smiled. "Of course, if it just so happens that I'm able to do something good? So it is."  
  
Nifsa and Pfarberk looked at one another, and grinned.  
  
"Thank you, Admiral. Now, onto less kind buisness," Nifsa said with a nasty grin. He pulled a small scroll from his belt and handed it over. "Our reports on Garlean shipping routes, technology and even some first-hand information we gleaned while spending time ashore."  
  
Merlwyb nodded, took the scroll and unrolled it, eyes flitting about as she read its contents for a minute or so. She smiled as she finished, tucking the scroll into her desk. "Well done, Captain, Master Pfarberk."  
  
"I hope this makes up for the lack of privateering," Nifsa replied with an odd expression. "The boys were a little put out when I said we'd be hauling refugees instead of purloined Garlean goods - but I think it worked out well in the end. I think I'll miss having the little ones aboard, y'know."  
  
"Looking to exit the privateering buisness?" Merlwyb asked.  
  
"That depends on the coin. How much is information worth, compared to Garlean guns and plate?" Pfarberk replied.  
  
"Hah! Degenerates, the lot of you. You'll be richly rewarded, worry not. Perhaps you can make a business of transporting persons, avoiding patrols and carousing with Garleans at port."  
  
"I'd rather not. Took every ounce of my being - had to listen to some imperial bastard go on for  _hours_  about his colonial troubles, how the local  _savages_  were uppity enough to resist the Garlean noose before I got that info about their shipping lanes around Thavnair," Nifsa said, scowling. "Was minutes away from slitting his throat and dumping him at sea, to be honest."  
  
"Well, there's no shortage of Garlean ships to strike at, if you'd like your revenge for lost time," Merlwyb pointed out.  
  
Both sailors shrugged, smiled at one another.  
  
"So, as far as I see it, the crew of the  _Big Kweh_  have done their good deed for the time. Speak with Maelstrom Command tomorrow and you'll get your dues; in the mean time I have other matters to see to."  
  
"Thank you, Admiral. We'll be in touch if anything comes up on one of our excursions in the future," Nifsa said, getting up to salute Merlwyb with Pfarberk.  
  
"Of course. Now get out of my office - I'm sure you scoundrels have a great deal of wining and whoring to catch up on."  
  
"Perish the thought. Come on, let's go." Nifsa and Pfarberk sauntered out of the office, and once they'd left Merlwyb sighed, and gave herself twenty seconds to rest before getting up and linkpearling Maelstrom Command to check in on the refugees.

* * *

 

 

  
Four hours later, Baatar could not believe that she'd ever survived spending two months aboard the cramped, perpetually-swaying confines of a seaborne ship. She and the other children had been brought into a "simple" set of military barracks at the top of the city - whose massive beds, hammocks, cots and spacious interior would have been a sign of astounding luxury upon the steppe. The children were brought to the bathing-room tucked off in a side room, and while Baatar and the other refugees recognized the water-pumps and tubs, the strange, snake-like contraptions that ran up the walls and terminated in odd, flattened-discs with numerous tiny holes.

"These," Idertuuya said as she and a few of the other adults helped strip the children out of the robes that had been given to them by the sailors, "are show-ers. Here, in Eorzea, they even have hot water that falls from here," she said, pointing at the disc, "without burning fuel to make heat, or pumping to make the water fall."

The children ooh-ed and aah-ed as Idertuuya stripped out of her clothing, walked over to one of the "showers' and pulled one of its levers slightly; with stunned silence the children watched a cascade of water pour forth from the shower. Idertuuya pulled another lever - this one only halfway - and then tested the waters with an extended figure before sighing and smiling.

"Come, children, it's warm," Yesui said, beckoning.

Baatar and the others toddled along into the stream of warm, steaming water, cheering and whooping in delight as they began trying to throw water at one another; the adults indulged the children for a few minutes before yanking them back in - some by the tail - and giving them a good scrubbing with cloth and sponge; Baatar revelled in how clean her hair and skin felt, how polished her scales were, layers of grime and dirt coming off her scales in tiny pieces.

After their luxurious shower, the kids were given fresh clothes, left by a Maelstrom attendant while they were cleaning up. After the adults had all cleaned themselves, Idertuuya left the room for a few minutes, returning shortly with the Admiral's assistant - the towering green-skinned giant named Eynzahr - and several other Maelstrom soldiers, each carrying a small platter of food.

"Children! It's time to eat!" Idertuuya said as she helped the soldiers place the food on one of the tables; the eldest of the adults sat at the table, pulling up chairs, while the other adults pulled rugs and mats from their well-worn rucksacks, laid them out in a small circle on the ground and sat with the kids.

"There's no need for that - enough chairs for everyone," Eynzahr said with a frown.

"It is our way," Agujam said, rocking her young, blanket-swaddled child back and forth as she sat at the table. "The table is for the eldest and the mothers.," she explained, pointing at herself. "There is no dishonour to sit upon to the steppe; she provides us our food and we take it upon her soil with grace. Well, the floor, here, but the idea is the same."

"If that's your custom," Eynzahr replied, scratching at his hair. "Anyways we've not got anything fancy-"

"-no talk of fanciness here, Master Slafyrsyn," Idertuuya said as she leaned back in her chair at the table. "To us steppes-folk, simple as we are, your housing and your bathing-room are the height of luxury."

"Ha! You'll make good Lominsans, then," one of the other soldiers, a female red-haired miqo'te, said with a flick of her tail and a sharp-toothed grin. "Believe me, we've no shortage of recruits who bellyache about the rations and the housing."

"In any case, I'll remain to discuss your case. Everyone else, dismissed," Eynzahr said with a nod to the other soldiers. They all saluted and left the barracks; Eynzahr sat at the table with the other elders. "But enough talking - I'm sure you're hungry and the evening approaches," he continued, pointing at the wall-mounted chronometer. "Dig in. Chicken and mushroom stew, bread for sopping. Fresh greens with garlic and oil. And, of course, fruits - perfect for eating after many days at sea."

"We are humbled by your kindness." Idertuuya bowed her head with the other refugees, and when she spoke it was in the Xaela tongue. [Blessed is the Dusk Mother, who in Her glory, power and grace, has seen us safely to these far-flung shores. Tonight we eat and rest for ourselves and those we have lost along the way. Let this meal be the first of many on these soils. Thanks be to the animals who were slain for the meats. Thanks be to the steppe and this Eorzean lands which granted us these foods. Thanks be, Dusk Mother.]

[Thanks be,] the refugees replied.

"I see there are bowls here. If it is alright, however, we shall eat using our own utensils. It is a...thing of pride," Idertuuya explained.

"Go ahead. I'll not instruct you how to eat, of all things," Eynzahr said.

The elders filled their bowls with stew, bread and vegetables first, before passing along bowls of food and cups of water to the children, then the other adults. Baatar pulled her pack over from the side of the room with the other children and took out her utensil-kit; she popped the small wooden container open, pulled a well-worn metal spoon out and dug into the food with gusto. The vegetables were like any other she'd had, but the stew was odd - not unpleasant, but spiced and flavoured such that she could hardly believe she was eating a dish made of such familiar things like chicken and mushrooms. Strangest of all was the bread; its crunchy crust and white, fluffy interior was nothing like the flatbreads she had eaten before.

Soon the children had finished their meal, prayed once more and were ushered off to bed; Idertuuya and most of the other adults were packing up and leaving to discuss the clan's matters with Eynzahr in the room outside the barracks, and so Baatar and the other children were tended to by Agujam and three others. As Agujam rocked Dalaichin back and forth next to the beds the children lay in, singing a old battlesong, Baatar could barely keep her eyes open to listen to the whole thing.

_[Mightiest warriors of the steppe, they bowed before Bardam,  
for he was strong of arm and mind  
and none could touch his body...]_

That night, for the first time in a long time, Baatarsaikhan did not dream of slaying Garleans, but instead of standing upon a great, mighty sea-faring boat, dressed like a swashbuckling Limsan sailor of legend and carrying an axe just like Pfarberk's; the wind whipped at her skirts and, with a loyal crew standing beside her, she would face the endless sea, a warrior the equal to Bardam himself.

 

* * *

**11TH SUN OF THE THIRD UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1558 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA  
Maelstrom Command, Limsa Lominsa**

"You must be glad, Miss Idertuuya. To see the kids safe and sound."

"You are correct, Master Slafyrsyn. We do this for them." Idertuuya smiled, nodded. "By no means did all the Kha come to flee the lands, just us coward enough to know that the Garleans would drive us inland. We were seventy-nine, when we began our journey. Twenty-eight made it to the boat, and now we are twenty-six. For the ones who have returned to the earth, and for the children who are not yet tall, we will continue."

"Mmm. You'll do them proud."

"I hope."

"In any case, then, while I know that not all of the adults are here," Eynzahr said, looking around at the other Xaela adults sitting around the conference table, "I trust there are enough of you here to get the message across. Now, before I start in earnest, let me make this clear - if you've any questions, you ask. Interrupt me, even. I'd rather you do so now and clear up any confusion, alright?"

"We'll not hold our tongues for fear of upsetting you," Temulun said with a wide smile. "We are rough folk."

"And while the Limsan people may not be living on the steppe, I think you'll find they're more kin to you than the the people of the other big cities," Eynzahr said with a laugh, before his expression sobered. "So, the Maelstrom can't house and feed you forever."

"We had imagined as much," Idertuuya said, nodding. "We shall work for coin and food."

"That's good. Thankfully we're in a good period right now - there's plenty of work to be had in the shipyards, throughout the farms and on the docks, if that pleases you. Hardy, honest folk like yourselves will fit right in, I'd say. If you'd rather work in the city proper, that might be a bit tougher. Many of the jobs in town that aren't related to labouring will ask for people good with numbers and figures - but I'm sure at least some of you have the talent for it, even if you don't know it. And, frankly, coming from a foreign land like your own, I guarantee you'll make gil a-plenty selling wares from your homeland."

"People will want the goods of the steppe?" Idertuuya asked, head cocked. "Like what?"

"Everything, honestly. Clothes woven in your style. Arts, if you have them. Instruments, music and the skill to play such things. Storytelling for the taverns. Food from, to Eorzeans, an exotic land. Even your alcohol - I'm sure you have it-"

"-we do," Yesui said with a grin. "We do partake in much of it."

"Twelve's blessings, you people  _are_  going to make good Lominsans. We like hearty food and heartier spirits - and no matter the type you'll find sailors willing to buy your food and drink your alcohol, trust me. We're a city of folks who love their food - if any of you visit the Culinarian's guild, I assure you the folks there will happily pay you in coin or food to pick your brains for knowledge. And, we do no shortage of trade both seabound and upon the land - the city of Ul'dah, out in the deserts, is one which thirsts for exotic things."

"And for the warriors among us?" Idertuuya asked. "I can cook and weave and tell song - any adult of the clan can do those things - but mine soul is that of the plains-warrior who delights in battle."

"Well, then you've got two options," Eynzahr replied with a thoughtful expression. "There are adventurers - I'm sure you having something akin to them - folks who go out, take odd jobs moving goods, slaying beasts, protecting travelers."

"Ah. We have such things in our land - common, amongst us nomads," Temulun noted.

"Right. It's not an easy life, but there's always people looking for such things in a city like Limsa Lominsa. If you'd prefer a less solitary life, and think you'd work well in an organized military, the Maelstrom - that's us redcoats - serve Limsa as its standing army. We'll gladly take recruits if you can pass the entrance tests; I also know that the Admiral and a few others are looking to see if we can't learn anything from your ways of warmaking from the steppe."

"Ah, yes. We have no knowledge of your guns, but proud we all are of our warrior ways. We wield axe and spear with equal measure, and though we have no horses to ride, I am sure our mounted archery will work just as well on your horse-birds," Idertuuya replied.

"Horse-bir- ah, chocobos. Right. Anyways, I know that's a lot to take in - and there's no rush, you have a month before we're to push you out of our barracks. We'll also have lessons run by our soldiers to teach you the basics of getting by in Eorzea; things like law and custom, and a rundown of the powers in our land."

"We are grateful to you, your Maelstrom warriors and to the Admiral most of all," Idertuuya replied with a long nod. "You have done well by us and we shall forever be thankful. I promise you that we Kha who have come to your shores will repay this debt eternal to the city of Limsa Lominsa, Master Slafyrsyn."

"There's no need to be getting so formal. The Maelstrom's here to protect not just the city, but you - and, victims of the Garleans that you are, even of our underbelly only the foulest of our criminals will even think of raising a hand against you."

"Here, too, you hate the imperials?" Idertuuya asked, eyes bright and full of fire.

"Of course. Blasted Garleans think they can just stomp on over to our land, ravage the earths and pillage to their heart's content. Of course we hate them."

"Good. That is a good lesson to know. I think we Kha shall get a long very well with your people, in food and drink and custom. And most important of all, war," Idertuuya said with a wide, heartless smile. "I cannot speak for the others, but if our ways of axe and spear and bow will help kill more Garleans, I shall be blessed to assist your Maelstom in its endeavors."

* * *

  **END OF PROLOGUE ONE  
  
Baatarsaikhan Kha ** has joined the party.

 

> PARTY:
> 
> Baatarsaikhan Kha  
>  Race: Au Ra, Xaela  
>  Age: 4  
>  Class: N/A


	2. SETTLING DOWN

**PROLOGUE TWO: SETTLING DOWN**

 

**11TH SUN OF THE THIRD UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1561 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
**  
**  
Baatar sat on the small pier which lay at the end of the street, five minutes walk away from the apartment she now called home, drinking orange juice and snacking on a parchment-wrapped piece of fried trout.

She was watching the sun set, listening to the crashing waves mix with the sound of dockworkers and sailors shouting from across the way as they worked to clear away their boats for the evening.

Baatar was now seven whole years of age, and while she was aware that her knowledge of things was by no means remotely what the adults might call "life-and-world-aware," she knew that life here in Eorzea - in Limsa Lominsa - was so much easier than on the steppe that even now, two years after her arrival she still couldn't quite believe it. The first year hadn't been easy for the adults, Baatar knew; adjusting to the strange land seemed much harder for them than it did for her and the other children. The Eorzean Common the adults spoke was thickly-accented. Their horns and tails were an object of curiosity. They'd traded steppe living for the hustle and bustle of city life, and Baatar could tell that the adults, happy as they were to be living in relative luxury, happy as they were to be away from the threat of rival tribes and the looming shadow of Garlean raids, missed the steppe on a deep, spiritual level. She had mixed feelings on the matter. Oh, she missed running on the endless plains, watching sheep-herders and dzo-wranglers, living under open sky where night was the realm of silence and the stars instead of merry-making and partygoers. But she couldn't say that she missed her old life: waking up long before sunrise, collecting fuel-dung, milking the animals and then spending the majority of the sun learning to either repair equipment or make war.

Last year, while the adults had taken on work either helping train with the Maelstrom soldiers who guarded Limsa Lominsa or labouring in the fields and shipyards that surrounded the town, Baatar had followed around, helping with whatever Limsan construction managers and farm-owners thought acceptable work for a child - delivering meals and messages, milking animals or, on very rare occasions, being used to get into small spaces. For that year she never worked for more than a half-sun - the Limsans thought it barbaric for a child to work much longer than that, for some reason - and found herself spending much time with the other children learning letters and numbers, or playing in the city.

They'd had a frosty reception from many of the children who ran around Limsa during the daytime, but even now that was starting to change. Where once the children would only play (and sometimes actually) fight with them, calling them "horn-head" and "scale-freak" and "stinky lizards," now they were starting to let the Xaela children into their games, referring to them as dragons and coming up with mad tales of how their parents hid wings beneath their skin. (Baatar did wish she could fly, and was sad to explain that auri did not have wings; some of the Limsan children, for some reason, refused to believe her.)

And so the year had passed; many of the refugees had saved up enough coin to buy proper apartments by then, and some of the adults who aspired beyond field-labour and construction work managed to follow those dreams. Yesui, once the village's best cook, had managed to open a small food-cart that sold a variety of traditional Xaela foods: dumplings, steamed (buuz), fried (khuushuur) and boiled (manti), as well as roasted meats, salted milk tea (suutei tsai) and kumis, the traditional fermented-milk alcohol of choice on the steppe. He'd found a spot close to the docks, gotten some of the other adults - and the children - to help prepare the food, and opened on the third sun of the new year. His cheap, filling and "exotic" food had found a following by the fourth sun after his opening; by the eighth sun, word had spread to the Culinarian's guild.

Five months later, nine of the adults and all of the children were now employed in a small dockside restaurant,  _Nhaama-giin Adislaluud_ : "The Dusk-Mother's Blessings." Now, on most mornings, all of the refugees - save for Idertuuya, Temulun, Sagra, Ebegei and Chagur, who spent most of the eight-sun week living with the Maelstrom - would wake up in the apartment complex they had all moved to, take breakfast, prep ingredients for the day and then go downstairs to work in the kitchens. What the children were put in charge of tended to change daily; today, Baatar and the others had been put to work packing dumplings and pouring mugs of drink. It was simple, fulfilling work - and, adopting Limsan custom, Yesui and the other adults always made sure that the children were out of the kitchens by afternoon. Then, Agujam would escort them to the small temple of Thaliak, the Eorzean scholar-god, and the children would take lessons for a few hours before being let loose upon the city.

Free time in a city as vast and sprawling as Limsa Lominsa was something that Baatarsaikhan had come to cherish; whether alone or with friends, there was  _always_  something new to discover, new nooks and crannies to explore and, of course, new restaurants to spend the coin she was allowed at. Not in the mood to play today, she'd instead spent the early evening watching mock axe-fights at the Marauder's Guild before stopping at the wharfs, purchasing her dinner and settling down to relax. She'd just finished her fish and was about to finish her juice when she noticed two children roughly her age staring at her from the piers on the other side of the waterway. One was a miqo'te - his hair and tail were a dull white, and his skin a pale blue much like her own. The other was a lalafell, brown-skinned, grey-haired and tanned.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure how long they might have been there.

Even from this distance, she could tell that both had probably seen better suns; they both wore simple robes which were a poorly-stitched patchwork of fabrics and cloths, and though she wasn't a healer by any stretch of the imagination neither looked very well-fed. If either had noticed that Baatar was looking back at them they weren't making a show of it; they seemed to be having a heated discussion about something.

Baatar frowned, and thought for a moment.

She didn't have enough coin to feed the both of them - she'd already deposited half her daily gil allowance in the strongbox at the apartment and spent the other half on the fried fish and juice.

Still, that didn't mean she couldn't head back to the restaurant and get them a snack or something; Nhaama knew there were always a few extra buuz sitting around at the end of the night.

Smiling and nodding to herself, Baatar stood up, and waved to the two. "Hello there," she shouted. "Are you hungry?"

The two children across the waterway stopped their discussion and turned to look back at Baatar; she waved at them and stood up, tucking her now-empty mug into her satchel before crumpling the parchment-wrap and tossing it into her bag as well. "Hello there! If you're hungry I think we have some food at the restaurant! You can come see if we have any, at least!"

The mangy-looking kids stared at Baatar for several seconds before turning to each other and conferring with one another; their discussion, as before, was too quiet to be heard over the bustle of Limsan nightlife and the waves. After two minutes or so, they appeared to have settled their discussion.

"Where'll be this food?" the cat-boy shouted, his voice raspy and tinged with the thick accent Baatar had heard amongst the children of dockworkers. "And free, is it?"

"Yes!" Baatar shouted back. "Do you know the  _ _Nhaama-giin Adislaluud__?"

There was no response for a second; the lalafell tugged on the boy's robes and said something Baatar couldn't hear.

"Aye, we know't. You'll lead us, then?" the boy said.

"I will!"

"Alright. We'll come." Both children took off at a jog to Baatar's left, disappearing behind a row of buildings; they re-appeared a few minutes later, meeting Baatar at the intersection that lead down towards the pier she'd been sitting on. As they approached, Baatar realized that her original conclusion - that the children had seen better suns - was a massive overestimation of their situation. She'd seen children and adults taken by hunger on the steppe, but it had been a rare thing; even in the worst of times there was always some mix of herbs, plants and easily-huntable meats to be found in the wild. Both kids were thin, gaunt things with haunted expressions etched on their faces; even compared to the other poorer children Baatar had seen during her time in Limsa these two were a sorry sight, with dirty, shaggy hair and no shortage of scratches on their faces. Their clothes, too, were barely held together and bore holes where the fraying patchwork of fabrics could no longer hold their poorly-made stitching.

Both stared at her with a blank look on their faces for several moments before the cat-boy frowned and jerked his head in the direction of the restaurant which lay down the street. Baatar led the way, talking over her shoulder as they walked.

"So then? How'll you two be named?" The lalafellian girl looked as though she were about to say something, but a glance from the boy cut her off before she had a chance to respond. Baatar frowned, stopping to face them. "Come on, then, I can't bring you two into my uncle's without names. It's our way."

"Whose way?" the cat-boy asked, his white ears and tail swishing with visible concern.

"Ours," Baatar replied, blinking. "We of the steppe."

"Stairs?" the lalafell girl asked, confused.

"No, the  _steppe_ ," Baatar corrected. "Where I and the other Xaela auri come from."

"Zay-la...oh-ree?" The lalafell frowned. "Are those your lizardkin?"

Baatar smiled and nodded. "We're not lizards - but yes, that'll be my kith and kin."

"It's your custom to feed dock rats?" the boy asked.

"It is the way of the Kha," Baatar replied, almost offended. "When the fruits of my creation are plentiful, share, so that my children may be bountiful across the plains. That is Nhaama's word."

"And it'll be free? Not just gil, but in work?" the boy pressed.

"Do you want food or not?" Baatar replied crossly. "I'm trying to be nice."

The cat-boy was about to respond when the lalafell kicked him lightly in the ankle; he grumbled something under his breath, but said nothing else.

"Sorry. We be careful folk, being dock rats," the lalafell said with a thin smile. "I'll be Momolk Molkoh. This'n be Xomni'to Molkoh, me littler brother."

Baatar blinked. "But you're not the same folk."

"Aye, nay bloodkin," Momolk said with a nod. "But you'll know kith who're blood, hmm?"

"I do," Baatar replied, raising an eyebrow at Xomni'to's foul expression.

"Nay worry about him," Molkmolk said with a shrug. "A stick in his arse about naming hisself to others." Molmolk batted away a swat from the miqo'te, and did her best impression of a noblewoman's curtsey. "And you'll be?"

"Baatarsaikhan Kha," Baatar replied, clasping her hands together and bowing her head slightly.

"Too long, innit sounds queerlike," Xomni'to said with a frown.

"Queer? Well, it's a good, strong name, I'll have you know," Baatar replied crossly, hands on her hips. "I'll have you apologize, too! Many-a-hero had my name."

Xomni'to stared at Baatar, expression unchanging and blank; he winced slightly as Molmolk kicked him in the ankles again. "Sorry," the miqo'te said without an ounce of apology in his voice.

Baatar sighed and shook her head. "Whatever. Now that we've introduced, though, I'll bring you to the restaurant without worry of Yesui giving me a whip of the tail. Come on."

A few minutes of walking later they passed by a public chronometer hanging from a street-lamp; Baatar paused to read the time before continuing, and by her estimate it was around eight in the evening when they arrived outside the restaurant. The door was propped open to let the cool seaside air flow into the kitchen-heated warmth of the restaurant, and both the smells of roasting meats and noise of patrons filtered out of the door. It was a small, fairly cramped space filled with a half-dozen long benches, each one seating a dozen patrons; behind sat a short bar and the hot, steaming kitchens. With only ten patrons seated at the benches and three sailors at the bar, the restaurant was fairly empty considering the time; Baatar greeted the patrons she knew and greeted Ogodei and Terbish, who were both serving that evening before bringing the two dock rats beyond the kitchen and into the apartments upstairs.

Baatar led them up to the apartment she called home, fished her keys off their necklace-ring and opened the doors; Agujam and a few of the other adults were sitting at the dining table, drinking kumis and chatting amongst themselves.

" _Oroin mend_ , aunties, uncles!" Baatar said happily.

"Oh! Baatar, you're back earlier than we'd thought you'd be," Yesui said with a smile. "And I se - oh, Dusk Mother!"

The adults all leapt to their feet as they took stock of the two children waiting just beyond the doorway; both immediately tensed up, eyes darting about the hallway they were standing in and the stairway behind them.

Agujam waved the other adults back, knelt down and smiled, smoothing out her robes; her voice was the one she used when she wanted to soothe Dalaichin or any of the other children. "Now, now, children, there's no need to worry. We've food, baths and clothing for you, if you'll have it."

"Nobody gives that all away for free," Xomni'to said in a low hiss. "A trap, this'll be."

Both took a slight step back.

"It's not a tr-"

"- _chimeegüi_ , Baatar," Agujam said with a wave of her hand, expression thoughtful and her eyes never leaving the two. "Now why would this be a trap?"

"Too easy," the miqo'te said slowly. "Charity'll be one. All this'n's too much."

"Mayhaps you'd prefer to work for coin and meal? For roof and bed?" Agujam offered. "If you'll not have our charity, would work alike be kind for you?"

"Still too easy."

"So it is," Agujam said with a sad smile. "But I'll not let you leave without a  _buuz_  to eat and milk to drink, at the least."

"We'll take't outside."

"So it is. If you'll wait outside, we'll bring you a meal to take with you."

Baatar watched, perplexed, as the two dock rats took off back down the stairs; the second they were out of view, Baatar wheeled around.

"You let them go," she said, frowning.

"They're scared, little warrior," Yesui said, sighing as he got up out of his seat. "Harsh is the steppe, but she is fair. Eorzea - Limsa - not so."

"You shall come with me, Baatar," Agujam said, standing up again. "We shall leave them food for the road and an offer."

"Okay," Baatar said, clearly still frustrated.

The older woman led Baatar back down to the kitchens; she passed Baatar two mugs full of sheep's milk before selecting several  _buuz_  that would otherwise be sold for cheap the next morning and placing them on a tray. Agujam brought the food outside to find Momolk and Xomni'to standing at the edge of the block, staring at the door.

"I leave this for you," Agujam said, setting the tray down several paces away from the restaurant's door. "And Baatar brings you milk to drink," she added as Baatar set the mugs down on the tray. "If you ever wish to take our offer, it waits for you here, alright?"

Both auri stepped back and with incredible speed Xomni'to darted forward, snatched the tray, and returned to Momolk; the two stared at the two Xaela with odd expressions before slinking away into the night.

"I hope they come back," Baatar said sadly.

"I hope so too, little warrior," Agujam replied, patting Baatar on the head. "I hope so too."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  
**22ND SUN OF THE FOURTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1561 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa  
**  
Over the course of the next few weeks, Baatar saw Xomni'to and Momolk a few times; they'd stopped by on a few evenings to get food, never staying longer than was absolutely necessary around the restaurant. She'd see fleeting glimpses of the two children as they grabbed cups of milk and tea, snatched at trays of dumplings; despite her best efforts to get the two to stay, though, they never did.

Not, at least, until nearly a month and a half after she'd first met them.

Baatar had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the apartment complex's communal toilets - which were on the ground floor - and froze as she heard a slow, rhythmic thumping which seemed to be coming from the direction of the restaurant. She paused, unsure of what to do; after a half-minute she figured she could wait to relieve herself and instead fished her keyring out of her pockets, crept over to the rear door of the restaurant and unlocked the kitchen access. The thumping grew louder, louder, and then Baatar could hear a voice.

"Help," the voice said. It was weak, raspy, barely audible through the thick front door of the restaurant. "Help. Help."

Baatar scurried over to the door, pulled up a chair, hopped on and pushed aside the metal disc which covered the peephole; she couldn't see anything on the other side save for an odd-looking clump of white fur on the ground, almost totally out of sight.

Then it hit her.

"Xomni'to?" Baatar asked.

"Hurt. Can't...can't," Momolk's voice said. "Please."

Baatar unlatched the door, then hopped down, pushed the chair aside and tugged on the door handle, pulling with force to move the heavy wooden door; it opened to reveal Momolk. Her ill-fitting robes were torn in several places, lending an almost ghostlike figure to her already-tiny frame; her face and exposed arms were covered in scratches and cuts, some of which were fresh enough to still be bleeding slightly. Xomni'to lay on the ground beside her, face-up with his eyes closed. The white clump she'd saw was his tail, which snaked out from beneath his back; he, too, was in poor shape, clothes ripped and his body bleeding in several places - and most worryingly, his left arm looked to be, if not broken, certainly not set properly.

"Oh,  _Nhaama_ , what happened?" Baatar half-shouted, doing her best to stay calm.

"Both fell. Dragged him," Momolk said, her breathing shallow.

"Okay, okay, just wait, I'll get the adults, just wait!" Baatar sprinted back through the restaurant and up the stairs, shouting as she went. "Help! I need help!"

Agujam was the first up; she opened the door to the main apartment before Baatar had even gotten up the stairs. "Baatar, what's wrong?"

"It's Xomni and Momo! They're hurt!"

"Where?"

"Downstairs!"

"Alright. Yesui! Ogodei! Wake up - those two stray children Baatar met are injured. Help me bring them up! Baatar, you stay here and help the others make comfort for them, alright?" Agujam waited for Baatar to nod, then took off down the stairwell as Yesui and Ogodei followed not far behind. Baatar and the other children cleared away their sleeping mats as the adults fetched medical kits, put on a pot of boiling water and cleaned off a pair of tables; a minute later Agujam and Yesui returned, carefully cradling Xomni'to's unconcious, limp form as Ogodei carried Momolk. The two were each placed onto a table, and Terbish, who was amongst the refugees' most skilled healers, stepped forward to take stock of the two dock rats.

"You're Momolk, yes?" Terbish asked. "What happened? And how are you feeling?"

"We fell...our hiding hole fell apart," Momolk managed to say through laboured breathing. "I'm a'right, me chest hurts and I'm...bleeding. Xomni, he'll not wake up an' his arm...his ar-"

"-shush now, shush, it'll be alright. Here, get their robes open," Terbish said, opening his medical case. He waited until both children were stripped down, wet his hands using the small bottle of rubbing-spirits and got to work, starting with Xomni'to. He pat down the boy and frowned as he examined the miqo'te's arm, then nodded. "I think he's alright - cuts and bruises mostly, and his arm's been unseated. Nothing that can't be fixed with a bit of massage and herb." He turned his attention to Momolk, patting her down, then sighed in relief as he began cleansing her wounds and applying fresh bandages; the lalafell hissed as the powerful alcohols touched her cuts, but otherwise remained silent.

Soon enough Momolk - who was now covered in enough bandages to more resemble a cloth doll than an actual person, Baatar thought - was taken care of; Terbish nodded at the others. "She'll need rest, aye - Yesui, see if you can't make a relief-tea for her. Those potions we keep - two parts boiled water, one part potion, and the usual herbs." Yesui nodded as the other adults ferried the drowsy Momolk off the cleared table and onto one of the fur-lined beds, and got to work mixing the tea at the stove. Terbish then turned back to Xomni'to, pulled up a chair and began gently rotating and massaging the dislocated arm; soon, Xomni'to began to stir, and Terbish cursed. "Ach,  _suga_  - hold, boy, hold!"

It was no use; Xomni'to howled as he awoke, eyes flitting about in pain and panic.

"Hold, boy! Your moving makes it worse!" Terbish growled, doing his best to keep Xomni'to's arm steady. "Agujam, the green vial!"

Agujam rushed to his side, pulled small vial containing crushed green leaves suspended in a green fluid out of the medicine pouch and forcefully emptied its contents into the boy's mouth; Xomni'to's thrashing ceased a minute later, reduced to panting as his eyes finally closed slightly.

"Where'm I? It hurts!" he screamed. "Momolk? Momolk! Where'll you be? Mo-"

"-hush, boy, she's alright," Terbish said.

"I'm here," Momolk managed to say from the nearby bed. "I'm here."

Xomni'to didn't respond, but he did visibly relax, and Terbish sighed in relief. "You're both safe, but I'll be needing to fix your arm, lest it not return to its place again. You'll feel sleepy and your pain dulled; just rest and let me work." The cat-boy nodded weakly, and Terbish resumed his work; in the meanwhile, Yesui brought Momolk a mug of relief-tea and made her drink its contents.

Baatar and the others remained in the room until, at last, what seemed like hours later, there was a soft popping noise from Xomni'to's shoulder and the boy - who had been dealing with the pain in silence - yelped, jarred out of his drowsiness for a moment before looking at his arm and moving it gingerly.

"Cease that, boy - your arm may be set but you'll not be moving it 'til it's healed. Just relax. Rest yourself," Terbish said, wiping his forehead with his forearm before getting to work slinging the boy's arm in place. At last, his work was done, and he eagerly grabbed at a glass of water Yesui had placed beside him, draining it in a single take.

"Will they be okay?" Baatar asked as she began drifting off to sleep, holding onto Agujam's skirts.

"They'll be alright," Terbish said, leaning back in his chair. "They'll be quite alright."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**23RD SUN OF THE FOURTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1561 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

Xomni'to snapped awake as sunlight filtered in through the window above him and, not recognizing the feel of whatever it was he was sleeping on - it was soft,  _too_  soft - attempted to get out of bed, using his left arm to prop himself up and promptly yelped as a deep, shooting pain ran up his arm. He lay back down and, rubbing at his eyes with his good arm, took stock of his situation.

He blinked several times as the previous sun's events became clear; he could recall that he and Momolk - both of whom were barely fighting off illness themselves - had decided to hole up in their usual hiding-hole after a failed attempt at pilfering food from the docks. The last thing he recalled clearly was their home, little more than a small alcove tucked into the side of an old, rickety warehouse, collapsing. Now he was in some sort of bedroom, richly furnished with furs and beds; strange embroideries hung from the walls, and while the furniture was basic even a dock rat like himself could tell the blankets and other weaved goods were of exotic make. His own bed was fur-lined and luxuriously soft compared to the thin rags he usually slept on, and his only set of clothing, a patchwork set of rag and cloth, had been replaced with a comfortable, soft, and clean pair of hempen robes.

To his right, Momolk lay in another bed, tucked beneath a thick fur blanket and snoring away peacefully. Xomni'to sighed with relief and, after a few moments of rest, gingerly sat back up.

"You're up, eh? Take care with your arm, boy. It'll be healed enough in a few suns, I think."

The voice came from a lizardkin - Xomni'to couldn't remember the strange folks' actual names - woman standing in the doorway of the sleeping room, dressed in a Maelstrom officer's uniform - a bad sign for any dock rat. Her pale blue skin was the same queer colour as her roughly-chopped head; her forward facing horns and long, spiky tail combined with red eyes ringed with glowing white to make a positively demonic impression.

"Come on, now, there's no need to be afraid," the woman said with a smile as she took in Xomni'to's ill-concealed expression of fear. "You're safe here."

"Redcoats're no friends of dock rats," Xomni'to mumbled, his voice cracked and raspy. "And you'll be one'f them lizardkin? Like the restaurant with the white dumplin's?"

"Aye, that'll be the one. Many of us live together. Kith and kin, together in a new home, in a new land," the woman replied with a smile, pulling up a stool and sitting down next to Xomni'to's bed. "Baatarsaikhan said that your name's Xomni'to. Is that the case?"

"It is," Xomni'to replied cautiously.

"I'm Idertuuya Kha, but if you'd like you can call me Idree," the woman said warmly. "Our little clan here has no leader, but the others elected that I speak to you in place of one. Well met, Xomni'to. And your friend?" she asked, inclining her head at Momolk's sleeping form.

Xomni'to said nothing, eyes flitting about the room.

"You're not in trouble, Xomni'to. Far from it - you're safe now, like I said."

"Really."

"Why would you not be?"

"To-"

"-o easy? Yes, I'd heard that you said that before," Idree replied, nodding her head knowingly. She paused, her expression thoughtful. "You know, Momolk - if I remember her name right - had to drag you all the way from your hiding hole?"

Xomni'to stared at Idree, then at Momolk. Their hiding hole was - had been, now that it was collapsed - at least a solid ten minutes walk away. The thought of Momolk, injured, dragging him through the streets set his hairs on edge.

"She herself was bruised, tired, sick, injured, and she still brought you here. Your arm was unseated, and so one of my kin fixed it. The two've you were given medicine, and so you'll be staying, at least until you're rested. Once you've both healed, if you'll take back to the streets, well, I won't stop you. But the clan's offer before - that you'n Momolk work for coin, bed and food - stands as it always has."

Xomni'to considered this for several minutes, before finally replying.

"Why help us?" he asked, his ears twitching. "Your folk've been nice to me'n Momolk since we showed ourselfs to you."

Idertuuya shrugged. "It was the right thing to do. We Xaela of the Kha clan fled our homes, and have only done ourselves well on the charity of others. By right, we are to repay that debt to others. Besides, 'tis not charity if you work, no?"

Another long silence.

"I'll not answer," Xomni'to replied eventually. "Me'n Momolk'll have to talk about't."

"Of course. One does not make decisions without first consulting kin. In the mean time, though, would you like something to eat, to drink, perhaps? Terbish - that'll be the one who fixed your arm last night, if you can recall - ordered that, while you two are in our care, you be fed extra properly to make up for lost time," Idree said.

Xomni'to  _hated_  this situation.

Everything about it reeked of a trap. Maelstrom - not just Maelstrom, but a lizard-demon-lady Maelstrom who looked like an officer, no less - had taken both him and Momolk, healed the pair, and was now offering food and drink. 

It sounded like the prelude to a life in slavery, or so went the rumours amongst the street urchins and dock rats.

But he was hungry, and as the gears in his head churned away hunger and thirst won out over all else.

"Aye, hungry and parched, I'll be," Xomni'to said slowly. 

"Hah! I figured. You'n Momolk both look like you've not seen a proper meal in many a moon."

"We haven't."

"So it is. Very well. I'll return shortly with relief-tea to drink and some food, then. You just lay down and take't easy, alright?"

 

 

 

  
Xomni'to lay back down and sighed, turning his head to look over at Momolk's softly-snoring form.

"Oi, Momolk," he said quietly. "Wake up!"

He frowned as the lalafell continued to sleep, and closed his eyes, deciding that at least for now he'd enjoy the comfort of the bed. He wasn't sure how much time passed; between his recent injuries, the cold from last month that he'd never truly shaken and the aches which always pained him, dozing off in the soft bed. He was half-asleep when the smell of cooking meats wafted in from beyond the doorway, and in an instant he was up.

"Food?" Momolk said, jolting awake in her bed. She yawned, drooling slightly as she rubbed at her eyes. "That smells good," she said groggily before shaking her head and glancing around at her surroundings. "Xomni'to! You're okay!"

"Aye," the cat-boy replied, pushing himself up and out of bed. He walked over to Momolk's bed and eased himself onto it, finding plenty of room besides the tiny lalafell girl. "I'm okay."

"I...right." Momolk sighed, and scooted herself upright, laying her head on Xomni'to's arm. "I know you'n I didn't like the idea of the lizardkin an' their offer, but, well, I didn't know where to go."

"S'okay, Momolk." He hugged Momolk tightly and closed his eyes. "I heard you dragged me here from the hiding-hole?"

"I did. Heavy as shite, you are," Momolk replied. 

"I'm sorry."

"No need. We're safe now, I think."

Xomni'to glanced back at the door and lowered his voice. "An' the rumours? Y'know, 'bout the slavers?"

"Don't think that's the way of things. These folk seem honest t'me."

"Okay. The lady - she'll be Idree - says the offer's still good."

Momolk frowned, waited nearly a minute before responding. "I think - I think - we should accept't."

Xomni'to looked at Momolk briefly before simply nodding. "Okay."

"Like so?"

"Like so."

Both simply held each other for several moments, when Momolk stopped to sniff the air. 

"That'll be meats a-cooking," she said with a wide-eyed stare at the door. "Come on."

The pair left the bed and cautiously walked over to the door, peering around; Idertuuya was there, tending to a large pot which sat atop the main room's stove. The beds the children had been laid on the previous evening were nowhere to be found, and in its place was a small, low table with furs around it.

"Well, if the two of you are up," Idree said without looking over her shoulder, "come and have a seat at the table."

Neither child moved.

"Or you can remain in the doorway if you'd like. The food'll be ready in a minute, mind."

Xomni'to looked at Momolk; she frowned slightly, but led the way into the main room and sat down on one of the furs with Xomni'to. Idertuuya finished working over the pot and began ladling its contents into three small bowls, before setting them onto a tray with three mugs and bringing it over to the table. Idertuuya set the tray down away from the children on her side of the table, and looked pointedly at them. 

"It's hot, so please,  _please_  be careful when you eat, alright?" She waited until both children nodded, then handed them each a bowl and a spoon.

Xomni'to looked into the bowl; it was an odd-looking stew with plenty of meat and several small brown strips. He poked at the bowl's contents and waited for Momolk to try some first; the lalafell cautiously put a spoonful of the stew into her mouth, chewing on the meat and swallowing shortly after. Momolk waited for several moments before taking another spoonful, then waited again before, almost a minute and a half later, elbowing Xomni'to lightly. Both children proceeded to tear through the food, shovelling it down as fast as they could - and while the flavours were absolutely foreign to Xomni'to, it was food - meat, no less - and as far as he was concerned it tasted better than anything he'd had in a long time.

"So? Was it good?" Idertuuya asked. Momolk nodded, and Idertuuya smiled before setting a cup in front of both of them. "Relief-tea for your aches. I'd be of a mind to give you some milk, but Terbish said it'd upset your bodies."

"This'll be the same ones from last night?" Momolk asked as Xomni'to sniffed the acrid liquid in the cup.

"It is. Cold, mind, but just the same."

Momolk drank first, and Xomni'to followed suit; when both had finished they simply stared at Idertuuya, who smiled in return. 

"Well, now that both of you are awake, I do want to ask if either of you's willing to accept our offer. Perhaps it'd make your more comfortable if I explained the mechanics of the situation? You'd live with us Kha, work as the children do, learn as the children do, play as the children do. Treated as one of us. No more, no less," Idertuuya explained. "We would take you in without the work, if you wanted, at least until you two'd be a little more filled out," she said, patting her stomach with a warm expression on her face, "but if charity'll not do then working'll be just fine by me'n the others."

"This is...normal? For your kin, I mean," Momolk replied slowly.

"The land I come from is harsh and unforgiving," Idertuuya replied. "We're no strangers to taking in, well, strangers."

Momolk considered this for a long moment before looking up at Idertuuya. "And why'n you'll not be taking all the dock rats in, hmm?"

Idertuuya sighed. "Full glad would I be to do such a thing. But I and the others, we've not the coin for it. So it is that we give some gil to the kitchens, but it isn't much. But two mouths to feed is not too many."

"Not very fair," Momolk noted.

"Eorzea is not a fair place, I think," Idertuuya replied matter-of-factly. "Back home on the steppe, all were equal before the wild's whims. Here, not so. I imagine as one who lives on the streets, you are aware of such things."

"Hmm."

"Well, I don't expect an answer at the moment. But I do wish for you two to think about it, or at least tell me your thoughts on the matter," Idertuuya noted.

"I think," Momolk said with utmost caution, "that we wouldn't mind accepting the offer."

"I see," Idertuuya replied. "You say  _we_ , but I'd like to hear it from Xomni'to himself. Do you feel comfortable," she said, addressing the miqo'te, "accepting such an offer?"

Xomni'to looked at Momolk, who nodded at him, and was about to reply when Idertuuya's expression soured and when she spoke her tone was stern, though not unkind.

"No, Xomni'to, I didn't ask for Momolk to answer or give you an answer. I asked  _you_  how you feel about this."

A long pause.

Xomni'to replied many seconds later with a noncommittal shrug, and Idertuuya sighed. 

"The reason why I asked each of you specifically is because I don't want either of you to feel as though you're being forced," Idertuuya said plainly. "I can ill imagine that trust for a street urchin is in short supply."

Neither child replied.

"But think on the matter, alright? Now, Terbish says the two of you have to be cleaned - so you'll come with me to the baths, and we're going to scrub all that dirt and grime off of you at the very least."

 

 

 

 

An hour later, Xomni'to sat in a heated washtub across from Momolk and marveled at how clean he was. He'd bathed before, yes, but he and Momolk had more or less never had the luxury of fresh, clean water, let alone soaps or a heated tub. His skin, which he had always just assumed was naturally a sort of soot-ish colour, was now a pale grey, not far from the Xaela's light blue skin. Momolk, looked altogether different after Idertuuya had finished with her; her skin had lightened from dirt-caked to a tanned brown, and her once soot-coloured hair was a soft grey.

"So? How do you two feel?" Idertuuya asked as she began extracting the small shards of spent fire-crystal from the tub's heating chamber and placing them in a nearby jar.

"Xomni'to's hair is white," Momolk said slowly. "I never kenned it so. Always thought it was ash-coloured."

"Well I don't imagine that either of you ever spent much worry on bathing," Idertuuya replied. "Fairly, most Xaela on the steppe don't, either, unless they were by a river." Both children looked at her, expressions somewhat blank, and the older woman sighed. "Never mind that. You two are welcome to stay in the tub 'til the water cools, if you'd like."

"And then?" Momolk asked.

"And then - assuming you two're still keen on accepting my offer - I'll be asking you two some questions. It's no interrogation - just a bit of learning on my part. After all," Idertuuya said as she laid out the children's clothes on a nearby table, "if you two're to join our little family then we'll be needing to at least know you beyond names."

Xomni'to and Momolk looked at one another before turning back to Idertuuya and nodding.

"Right then. You two know the way back to the main apartment?"

"We do," Momolk replied. "There'll only be the two doors besides the bathroom. One's the one we were in. The other's more living-rooms."

"Just checking," Idertuuya replied with a smile. She left the bathing-room; one the door was closed and the children were sure she was out of earshot, Momolk sighed.

"So," the lalafell said as she sunk into the tub's water, "what'yre thoughts?"

Xomni'to shrugged slightly. "She seems alright t'me."

"Same. So we're...we're in? On their offer?"

"Sure."

"I mean it, Xomni," Momolk said quietly. "If you're not okay with this-"

"-I'm okay with't. Not just 'cause you said so, neither."

The two stared at one another for a few moments.

Momolk breathed in deep, exhaled. "If you're sure."

"I am," Xomni'to replied, smiling slightly. "Nothing t'worry 'bout."

The two sat in the tub for many minutes longer, until finally the water began to cool. The two got out of the tub, towelled themselves off and put on clean clothes for the first time in years; when they returned to the refugees' main apartment, another auri man with blue hair pulled into a ponytail and horns that, unlike Idertuuya or Baatarsaikhan's, grew towards the back of his head, sat at the table next to Idertuuya.

"Come now, no need to stand in the doorway," the man said with a warm smile. "Do you remember me?"

"Ter...Ter-bish," Xomni'to said. "You'll be th'one that fixed me arm."

"Ha! Right you are, boy. Come on then, have a seat. Would either of you like a drink? Cold or hot, as you fancy."

The two children sat down across from the adults; neither said anything for a moment.

"I...cold drink?" Momolk asked. "How?"

"Icebox," Xomni'to said. "Saw't by the docks. You stick some ice-cryst in a box, and put the drinks in after."

"Indeed," Terbish replied.

"D'you have cold water?" Xomni'to said. "I like cold water."

"We do. I'll fetch both of you a glass?" Terbish got up as both children nodded, walked over to the large chest sitting on the kitchen counter and pulled out a pitcher; he poured two glasses and returned, setting each on the table. "So. You two decided to accept our offer?"

"We did," Momolk replied.

"And you, Xomni'to? Your thoughts on the matter?" Terbish pressed.

"I'm happy with't," he replied.

"Just like that. The two of you have no concerns?" Idertuuya said, gazing at both children intently.

"Well, it's like you said," Momolk replied. "Trust in, uh, short supply?"

"Mmm. That's fair," Idertuuya said. "I hope that our little family can earn that trust."

"Me too," Xomni'to noted.

"Well, I'd say that trust starts with names. I know I've already introduced myself, but it can't hurt to do so again. Idertuuya Kha, at your service," Idertuuya said with a small nod. "As you can see," she said, gesturing at her red-coloured overcoat, "I work for the Maelstrom, teaching sword and spear-fighting."

"And I'm Terbish Kha," Terbish said with a small bow. "I help out in the restaurant downstairs, and sell what cures I can make using the ingredients here at the market."

"Kha," Momolk muttered. "Wait. Baatar, she said she'd be Kha, too. You're all from the same mother?"

"No, goodness no," Terbish replied, shaking his head. "On the steppe - where we're from, across the ocean - we Xaela live in clans. Our little family here in Eorzea, we're all from the Kha clan - so it is that we share the same clan name. But we're not from the same mother, no. Idertuuya is my cousin, twice removed."

Momolk considered this for a moment before replying. "Well, I'm Momolk Molkoh."

"And I'll be Xomni'to Molkoh," Xomni'to added.

"Hmm. The same last name, and miqo'te-sounding in origin," Idertuuya said thoughtfully. "If you'll not mind me asking, though, 'Xomni'to' doesn't sound quite like any miqo'te name I've come across before."

Xomni'to looked at the floor. "Made it meself," he muttered. "Same for Molkoh."

"Ahh. I understand. The two of you...born on the streets?" Terbish asked gently.

"Far as we know, aye," Momolk continued. "Us two've been together long as we can remember."

"And do you know how old you are?" Terbish asked.

"Dunno. One've the templefolk says he found the two've us when he was twelve years, and now he's...he's...nineteen," Momolk said, pausing to think over the numbers.

"Hmm. So you two'd be the same age as Baatarsaikhan, then?" Idertuuya mused.

"But I'm younger," Xomni'to said. "Dunno by how much, though."

"Hmm. Interesting, indeed. Well enough, then," Terbish said, smiling. "That's all we wanted to know."

"So? What now?" Momolk asked.

"Neither of you is in much shape to be helping out around the kitchens - so, at least for now, you'll be resting, and eating to make up for the many meals you've missed. Eventually, we'd ask you do no more or less than the other children - helping out around the kitchens, at least until you're old enough to look elsewhere for gil. Between then, we'd like you two to take lessons in letters and figures," Idertuuya said. "I'm assuming neither of you can read or do arithmetic?"

"I can do numbers, but not very good," Momolk offered. "Both of us can read a little. Not much."

"Well, I'm sure the two of you will be fast learners," Terbish said, "but for now you'll be doing nothing but resting. Chirurgeon's orders, you understand. That means lounging about and eating as you like. Does that sound fair?"

Xomni'to wasn't aware of the smile which crept up upon his face, bigger than any he'd ever had. "Yeah. I like the sound a'that."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**END OF PROLOGUE TWO**

**Xomni'to Molkoh** has joined the party.  
**Momolk Molkoh**  has joined the party.

 

 

>  
> 
>  
> 
> PARTY:
> 
>  
> 
> Baatarsaikhan Kha  
>  Race: Au Ra, Xaela  
>  Age: 7  
>  Class: N/A
> 
> Xomni'to Molkoh  
>  Race: Miqo'te, Keeper of The Moon  
>  Age: 7  
>  Class: N/A
> 
> Momolk Molkoh  
>  Race: Lalafell, Dunesfolk  
>  Age: 7  
>  Class: N/A

 

 

 


	3. CALAMITY

  
**PROLOGUE THREE: CALAMITY**

**21ST SUN OF THE FOURTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1572 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA**

 

As the guildmaster of the Marauder's guild, Wyrnzoen Saelsmyndsyn had several problems.

The war with the Garleans, who had pushed beyond their occupied territories in Ala Mhigo to the east, was by all accounts not going all that well - which meant that his guild of axe-fighters was distressingly empty. While the fact that Limsa Lominsa was an island nation which sat on the east of the Eorzean continent meant that the city-state was in no (immediate) danger of invasion, the Limsan militaries were desperate for any able-bodied soldiers it could find - and that meant no shortage of lost income and a lack of trainees for the guild.

It didn't help, either, that most of the mentors in the guild had long since been shipped off to the mainland or were stationed in the Limsan fleets; Wyrnzoen was more than happy to train any and all comers to the guild, but he could only be in so many places at once and all too often one-on-one instruction was replaced by simple sparring in the fighting pits beneath the main hall.

His most pressing, problem, however, came in the form of an eighteen year-old auri woman, simply dressed in hempen robes and sporting a short roughly-chopped haircut sitting at the top of the arena, who was watching several trainees bash away clumsily at each other with training axes. With a swiftness and silence that belied his hulking stature, he slipped around the sides of the arena until he was an arm's length away from the woman before putting on his best drill-instructor's voice.

"Baatar, what in the seven hells are you doing here? If your mother knew you were skipping out on your lessons to skulk around the fighting pit she'd have our bellies slit and our guts hung to dry!" Wyrnzoen shouted; the combination of his booming voice - and the fact that, as a roegadyn, he towered over the young auri woman - was more than effective at catching Baatar's attention.

"Whoreson's PISS! You scared the shite outta me," Baatar replied, nearly jumping out of her seat. "Why'd you sneak up on me like that? And who's to say I'm skipping out on lessons to do a little training, eh?"

"Does your family know you curse like a salt-crusted sailor? And don't give me that shite - we both know you'd rather eat dirt than put your nose into a book," Wyrnzoen said, shaking his head. "And that besides, if you saw me coming to shout your horns off, no doubt you'd be scampering away like some sort of rat."

"Bollocks," Baatar shot back, scowling.

"To what, the running? Or the skipping out on your book-learning?"

"Both!"

"As if. Oi! You lot down there, hold a moment. How's it likely that Baatar here's shirking her duties?" Wyrnzoen shouted, turning as the trainees in the pit paused; Guguhope, a lalafell that was only a few years older than Baatar, answered first.

"A hundred-and-ten percent, I'd say," Guguhope shouted with a smarmy grin. "You can fight, Baatar, but if the bards at the Drowning Wench have silver tongues, yours is made of shite!"

"Gugu, you walking turd, I'll-"

"-right then! So it's settled, you're not supposed to be here," Wyrnzoen said with a smirk. "Navigator's blessings, you're to spend, what, three, four hours a day studying books with your siblings? Come on, it can't be that bad."

"Can't be that - you jest! I've no mind for it," Baatar grumbled, sitting back down. "Xomni and Momo and Enkh, those three can sit in the Arcanist's guild all day and just read and read and do sums and the like."

"Uh-huh."

"Look, old man, I can get through, say, three minutes of sums before my head begins to ache. Better I'd be spending my time in the kitchens or making gil elsewhere, I say," Baatar said. "I'm no magician or book-woman. Training to kill Garleans aplenty? That sounds like a good use of my time."

Wyrnzoen sighed. "First, I'm not old-"

"-yes you are-"

"-and second, your ma made me promise to steer you  _away_  from fighting and the war itself."

Baatarsaikhan groaned and huffed. "What a load of shite.  _She_  an' the other adults get to go to war, the book-lovers three get to start on the road to combat-magistry, and what, I"m not supposed to follow them?"

"Uh, no, she said you could join them. I've heard, and don't quote me on this, that learning to heal people is less dangerous than playing with axes. I suppose I should be glad that, at the very least, you've got no talent for the maths of gunnery, lest you blow yourself to pieces."

Baatar attempted to come up with a pithy retort, failed to think of anything intelligent, and instead grumbled incoherently under her breath.

"Look. Let's make a deal. You go back to the Arcanists' guild and do some lessons, and I'll do you two things. One, I'll not tell Agujam that you've been skipping your responsibilities  _again_. Two, I'll not tell Agujam you've been getting into fights,  _again._ "

"That's blackmail! And how'd you know about that?"

"No, it's me doing you a Twelve-dammed favour," Wyrnzoen said firmly. "As to how I know these things, it's not hard to imagine why you have bruises all over your fists and arms. And I wasn't finished. If, and only if you promise to stop this whole business of playing delinquent, I'll let you have a go at me in the pits."

"Oh," Baatar said, her eyes lighting up. "You mean it?"

"Only you'd be excited to have the piss beat out of you in a spar," Wyrnzoen said, shaking his head. "You really  _are_  thick."

"Ahh, bruises and aches are a sign that you're learning!" Baatar replied happily. "Better to take a lump in the arena than a wound on the battlefield."

"I don't even know why I bother. Go on! Get! Scram! I don't want to see you back here until you've done right by your ma - and I"ll be checking with Master Guldweitzwyn to be sure that you're not trying to cheat your way out of this'n."

"Alright, alright, I'm going! Keep your shite inside you!"

Wyrnzoen watched the young woman scramble up and off towards the stairs, shaking his head and smiling sadly as she sprinted out of view.

 

Baatar left the basement of the guild and returned to the main floor; as she cleared the spiral stairwell, Blauthota, the guild's roegadyn receptionist, shot her a smirk.

"Well well, I see our esteem-ed guildmaster weren't so keen on you shirking your dues after all," Blauthota said, leaning forward onto her desk. "I believe you said you'd bet gil on that not happening?"

"Oh, sod off," Baatar replied, sighing as she pulled a single-gil coin from her pocket. She tossed the coin at the receptionist, who plucked it out of the air and tucked it into an open drawer.

"Thank you, milady, for ye contribution to the guild. Navigator's blessings upon ye.”

Baatar rolled her eyes and checked the wall-mounted chronometer - two in the afternoon - as she threw open guild’s well-worn double doors and stepped out into a sunny Limsan afternoon; she breathed deeply, sucking in a long lungful of salty air. It was only a two minute walk from the guild’s entrance to the nearest aetheryte station, and despite it not being peak hours there was a small line of two dozen or so folk waiting to use the bright blue crystal. Still, the line moved briskly and soon enough she was standing before the aetheryte’s attendant, a lalafell with a thick, bushy beard.

“Ah, miss, are y’old enough t’use the aetheryte?” the man asked, looking Baatar up and down.

“You’re calling me too small? I’ve been using the ‘ryte for years,” Baatar replied indignatly.

“Just checkin’, miss. Twelve know we don’t need another repeat of last week’s incident - trust me, I’ll take you being upset over diggin’ a bunch of dead children outta the ground jus’ cause they were too proud ta say they couldn’t control the teleport, aye?”

“Fine, fine. So, what, you’ll let me through? Or should I go an’ fetch the records of me birth?”

“No need to be rude, miss. Go on ahead.”

Baatar rolled her eyes, strode up to shining blue shard and held out her hand, letting her anima seep out, latching first onto the aetheryte shard before her, then into the network which covered the city. She focused first on the shard which sat just beyond the Arcanist’s Guild, then paused and switched her focus to the one which sat in Hawkers’ Alley. The telltale pull/yank/flow of the aetheryte surged through her body, and Baatar shuddered as she winked out of sight and was deposited just to the side of the makeshift market, flanked on both sides by rows of merchants hawking their goods. Shaking off the discomfort, she got out of the way of incoming traffic and sauntered over to the alley which stood between her and the Arcanist’s Guild.

_Well. Told the old bastard I’d be goin’ to the guild, but I never did say I’d be going straight there, did I?_

Baatar sauntered in the Arcanist’s Guild’s direction, stopping at whichever stalls just so happened to catch her fancy on the way. She was about to sit down at one of them to purchase a skewer of grilled meat when she heard someone shout from down the street.

“Baatar! Oi, Baatar, over here!”

She looked up to find Oyuunchimeg working at one of the vendors’ stalls, and the younger Xaela - who, much to Baatar’s chagrin, stood at least a head taller than her - grinned when Baatar approached her small bakery.

“Ödriin mend, Baatar-ekch! Care for a tea and pastry?” Oyuunchimeg asked, idly playing with her long, white-haired side ponytail. “I’ll be happy to take your gil!”

“Sorry, Oyuun, no tea for me today,” Baatar replied with obvious disappointment. “I’ve my lessons to get to.”

Oyuun’s expression soured. “Ach! Baatar, you’ve been skipping out on-”

“-yes, yes I have, there’s no need for you to get up me arse, too!” Baatar waved her off with a slight scowl, digging into her coinpurse. “Don’t you go faulting me for wanting a break from that shite.”

“Language,” Oyuun said.

“Oh, come on! Now you’ll be watching me tongue, too?” the would-be marauder said, casting a weary glare at her friend.

“Well I’ll not be scolded by Agujam-avga for letting you off the hook. And don’t you go changing the subject!”

Baatar sighed. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is, leave the book-learnin’ to those who actually like it! Ya know, like the Siblings? Ergh,” she scratched her horn wearily with an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, I liked those two better when their idea of fun was, y’know, fun. Not burying their bloody noses in books all day and makin’ me head hurt with their nonsense-words. I swear, half of it’s made-up shite.” She sighed again. “I’ll take any’ve your breads - I like’em all.”

Oyuun blinked several times and her expression shifted to a sad smile, but she said nothing as she shook her head.

“Why’ll you be shaking your - ah, right. No family discount, I’spose.” Baatar fished around in her coinpurse and drew out a handful of coins; she spent a second counting them and, after a moment, dropped three on the counter - and before Baatar could blink, a light-grey hand shot out from behind her and snatched them out of the air.

“Our thanks, Baatar,” came a deep, rich, male voice from behind her.

“We do appreciate when you’ll be buyin’ us a lunch,” said another woman in a light, almost childish tone. “Real kind-like of you, milady.”

“SHITE-fucking-whorseson-piss-GAH!” Baatar’s blue streak was cut off by a cast-iron spatula slamming into her forehead.

“-language,” Oyuun said, this time far more firmly than before as she tapped the implement in her palm.

Ignoring the minor pain, Baatar wheeled around to find Xomni’to - who, despite his wiry frame and lean build, towered over her - tossing her coin around in his hands with a smirk on his face. Momolk stood next to him, arms crossed and her expression grim.

“Y’know,” Momolk said, clambering up onto one of the smaller stools placed in front of the counter, “when Master Guldweitzwyn said we were to go a-lookin’ for ye, I didn’t think we’d find you less than five minutes walk away from the guild.”

“Less than five,” Xomni’to added, shrugging in mock-despair. “Honestly now, every time, we find you either at the axe pits or gorging yourself here - Twelve forfend, if you’re going to skip your lessons, least you could do is make huntin’ for you interesting by provin’ why you don’t need them.”

“I was on me way, you pissants,” Baatar replied hotly. “Just was hungry.”

“Uh-huh. ‘On me way,’ and only five hours late,” Momolk countered, her tone screaming disbelief. “You didn’t even sleep in this mornin’! We woke you up!”

“Aye, she has you there,” Oyuun noted. “Can’t even rely on the old ‘I was hungover’ excuse that seems to be on your tongue half the time these days.”

“Beset on all sides by bastards,” Baatar grumbled. “Alright! Fine! Keep my coin, you cu - idiots. Can we just go and get this nonsense over with?”

“Sure. But I am feeling a little peckish. Miss Oyuunchimeg,” Xomni’to said with a smarmy smile, “I find myself in posession of, ah, thirty-five gil all of a sudden. Would I, perchance, be able to purchase a snack for myself and Miss Momolk here with that?”

“Oh, my good sir, but of course!” Oyuun replied with an exaggerated curtsy. “Can I interest you in a lunch set? If you’ve a container, I’ll fill it with a tea of your choice - our selection is simply divine - and today’s special is an eel pie. But, since you, my handsome sir and gorgeous lady, have been so polite, I shall add two freshly-baked pretzels for free.”

“You lot,” Baatar interjected after spitting on the floor, “are a bunch of shite-eating swine.”

“Don’t spit on the floor,” Momolk chastised with a waggling finger and a smothering, motherly tone.. “That’s uncouth.”

“Ram it up your arse,” Baatar said, spitting on the floor again, this time while staring directly into Momolk’s eyes. “This is just as-GAH!”

“-excuse me,” Oyuun said with genuine anger as she grabbed ahold of the curve of Baatar’s left horn and yanked her backwards, “you’ll not be spitting on my stall-space again, lest you be barred from buying things ever again.”

“Alright, alright, alright!” Baatar shouted, tapping on the table for mercy. Oyuun let her go, and Baatar quickly stepped out of grabbing distance from the irate baker. “Twelve above, you people - never mind. Just take your food, Xomni, and let’s go.”

Baatar sulked while Xomni’to took a canteen out of his bookbag and handed it over to Oyuunchimeg; she filled it with a steaming-hot black tea before handing it back alongside an eel pie and the pretzels, both wrapped in thick brown parchment. Xomni’to took the pie and tossed the pretzels to Momolk, who caught it with an outstretched hand.

“Thank you for your business, my goodly customers, and I do hope you return to the Rising Loaves in due time,” Oyuun said with an exaggerated bow.

“Of course, Lady Kha. When I have the coin and the time you can be sure I shall return post-haste,” Xomni’to replied, as both he and Momolk bowed in turn. Their work complete, the two stood on each side of Baatar and began walking down the alley towards the Arcanist’s Guild; they travelled in near-silence as Momolk and Xomni’to both tore into their food with gusto, and Baatar grumbled and cursed under her breath. They were halfway to the guild when Baatar felt Momolk poke her in the leg, and she looked down to find half of a pretzel flying towards her face. She caught it, and looked at it as she walked.

“Y’know,” Momolk mumbled around her pastry with expert practice, “if you’re going to curse us, you could at least expand your arsenal. ‘Shite-eating-swine’ fell outta favour ages ago. And you always fall back on ‘whoreson,’ ‘piss,’ or some combination of the two. It gets old.”

“Perhaps if you actually spend the time to read some books - any books, really - you might find that there’s a whole world of foul language that awaits your inspection,” Xomni’to added between bites of pie.

“I hate all’f you so much,” Baatar said, not unkindly, before wolfing down the pretzel. “Thanks for the food.”

“You paid for it,” Xomni’to noted.

“Prefer to think of it as me treatin’ me kin. Feels better that way,” Baatar replied with a smile.

“Whatever helps ye sleep at night,” Momolk said, licking salt and honey-glaze off her fingers.

Soon enough, the trio stood outside the Arcanist’s Guild; unliked the home of the Marauders, which stood tall and proud upon the upper decks of Limsa Lominsa, the Arcanist’s Guild was tucked away into a small corner, recognizable only by it’s own aetheryte station and a small, gold-trimmed door inlaid with an engraving of an open book.

“Well, I hope you’re ready,” Momolk said, reaching up to pat the tops of Baatar’s legs.

“For what, book-learnin’?”

The two Momolk siblings looked at one another and grinned before slipping behind Baatar and shoving her through the doorway; Baatar yelped and shouted a garbled cry before landing on her knees, pretzel-bits falling out of mouth. She looked up to find a stern roegadyn woman clad in robes staring down at her with an expression not unlike a powder-keg waiting to explode.

“Oh,” the woman said in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Miss Baatarsaikhan Kha! It is so good to see you’ve finally arrived for your daily instruction. I was worried that you might have gotten lost, or perhaps you’d been stricken with a bout of illness. Thank the Twelve that your two kith here could find you, and so quickly!”

“Uh.” Baatar couldn’t say anything intelligent, and so instead she got to her feet, stared at the floor and finished chewing on a last mouthful of pretzel before looking at the towering roegadyn, her pale-blue skin darkening with embarrassment. “Guildmaster Guldweitzwyn. I, ah, apologize for my bein’ late and all.”

“Is that so. And, perchance, would you happen to have a reason for your being late? And where you’ve been since? Hungover? Or was that last week’s excuse? It is so very difficult to keep track of the reasons you’ve given, but as an academic I suppose it makes good practice.”

“Right. Uh, well, milady, I’ve not got an excuse for ye today. I just dinn’t wanna come, and so I didn’t show. Now, I know that’s not the rightly way to do things-”

“-you don’t say-”

“-but, you’ve my word upon my clan that it’ll not happen again.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Miss Kha,” Thubyrgeim Guldweitzwyn said with a shake of her head. “In any case, I’ll accept your apology - once you answer my question.”

“I dinn’t wanna come?”

“You haven’t explained where you were.”

“I, ah, was at the axe pits. Guildmaster Saelsmyndsyn gave me the seven hells for being there.”

“Incredible,” Momolk breathed in a loud, obviously-fake whisper. “She tells the truth! She sees the light at last!”

“Twelve have mercy. Perhaps there is a chance for this lost child,” Xomni’to replied with a snort.

“One can hope,” Thubyrgeim agreed, nodding. “Luckily for you, Miss Kha, I have a meeting to attend to at the moment - so you’re going to follow your kith there into the study rooms, and you’re going to start catching up on your readings. I believe there’s a very, very large stack of books waiting for you.”

“I’ll get to’t,” Baatar replied sheepishly. “Right away, miss. An’ thanks for...you know.”

“Don’t thank me, Miss Kha. We’ll see about your standing here in a few days, once you’ve actually kept your promises.” Thubyrgeim walked off down the stairs into the basements, and Baatar visibly untensed as the Guildmaster disappeared from view.

“Come, Baatarsaikhan,” Xomni’to said as he made a grand gesture towards the main study room. “We have much learning to do!”

“So many equations to memorize!” his sister continued as she strode in front of their ‘ward’.

“Go fuck a carp,” Baatar spat as she followed Momolk towards the study.

“See? Not so hard, is't?” Momolk said cheerfully, dodging out of the way as Baatar aimed a kick at her.

 

 

* * *

 

Several decks above, Admiral Merlwyb sat in her situation room’s command chair, watching intently as officers pushed yellow, red, bronze and black-coloured figurines around the tabletop map which took up the majority of the room.

More and more pieces were gathering, pushing together in endless rows, all towards a single point.

Cartenau.

She frowned as another officer, Lieutenant-Colonel R'gubi Rhiki, jogged into the room, saluted, and made his way towards her.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Rhiki. Report.”

“Deployments are proceeding as planned, Admiral. We should be in position within the next two days.”

“Mmm. And the moon?”

“Unsure, Admiral.”

“Not good enough.”

“I...yes.” R’gubi’s tail twitched uneasily, and he sighed. “Pearling cross-continent’s been spotty since the Garleans put up those damned jamming towers of theirs, but current theory amongst the scholars is that, well.” He swallowed deeply, visibly composing himself to say the words aloud. “We’ve confirmed that the second moon is falling.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Lieutenant-Colonel," Merlwyb snapped at the officer. “I know the moon’s falling. I can look out the damned window to see that. I want to know how we stop it.”

“I... don’t know what else to tell you, ma’am.” R’gubi admitted quietly. “The assault on Castrum Novum was a success in every way. That transmitter, the one that’ll call down the moon, it was destroyed - and, well, uh, all intelligence points to that being the only one. Too expensive. Too complicated. And... and if the Black Wolf’s words are to be believed, the White Raven was alone in pushing for the plan. If the Garleans were building another one, we’d know, and that’s the truth.”

Merlwyb got out of her chair and strode over to the window, staring up at the sky. Orb that hung just a few fingers lower, invisible but to those who sought it.

“And yet it comes ever closer.”

R’gubi didn’t respond, and for a long moment the only noise in the room came from the clacking of the figurines being pushed around on the table.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant-Colonel.”

“Ma’am?”

“Everything changes in two days, one way or another. You have work to do. Get to it.”

“Y-yes, Admiral.” R’gubi saluted, and left the room at a brisk pace; Merlwyb watched him go before returning to the window, her gaze unfocused and her mind troubled.

 

* * *

 

**23RD SUN OF THE FOURTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1572 OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA**

 

“Oi.”

“Oi!”

“Baatar, wake up! It’s almost noon!”

Baatarsaikhan groaned as she opened her eyes; she was half-naked, ached all over and her corner of the apartment she shared with Momolk, Xomni’to and Oyuunchimeg was a total disaster.

“Go away. I’m sleeping and there’s nothing you can do ‘bout it,” she managed to grumble before rolling back beneath her fur blanket.

“Twelve - come on, Baatar,” Momolk said, prodding Baatar in the head with the rod of a broom. “You said you were gonna have a spar with your Guildmaster today!”

“Ohhhh, shite. Okay, okay, jus’ lemme get up in a minute here.” Mustering herself, Baatar propped herself upright and rubbed at her head; Momolk, armed with her broomstick, was sitting across from her, while Xomni’to was facing away. “Fuck’s sake. What’d I get into last night? An’ why’s Xomni not a-lookin’ this way?”

“Because you’re not wearing a shirt,” Momolk pointed out.

“And I have no great desire to lose my eyes to your ire,” Xomni’to added.

“Wha-ah, _damn it_...” Baatar looked down, let out a garbled groan and looked around her bedside for the shirt she had been wearing the previous evening; it was torn in several places and appeared to be stained with both blood and what might have been soup or stew at some point. “That was me favourite.”

“You say that about all your clothes,” Xomni’to pointed out with a sigh.

“Well...piss.” Baatar slid out of bed, carefully toddled over to her dresser and selected a new set of hempen clothing; she stripped out of clothes and put on a fresh pair of everything. “Alright, Xomni, you can turn ‘round now, I’m decent.”

“Decent and Baatar? Perish the thought.” Nevertheless, the miqo’te turned around and shook his head before grabbing a canteen from the table and tossing it over. “Go on, drink up. If your Guildmaster’s going to be whacking the living daylights out of you, you can at least do him the honour of being sober while it happens.”

“What is’t?” Baatar asked, catching the canteen and removing the stopper. She sniffed at the liquids within, scowling as an acrid smell wafted out of the bottle. “Smells terrible.”

“Oh, it’s a cure-all for drunkenness,” Xomni’to explained. “Ah, lady who made it said it has ‘twelve curative herbs, a variety of spices and flavouring meant to make it go down easy.’ Works like a charm, so I’ve heard.”

“Down the hatch,” Baatar groaned, before taking a deep swig. She retched slightly, then wiped at her mouth. “Twelve. That tastes worse than it smells.”

“Gotta drink the whole thing for’t ta work,” Momolk noted. “Come on, hurry it up.”

Baatar choked down another drink and sighed. “How’d you even know that?”

“Oh, ‘cause I made it,” Momolk said, eye only slightly twitching as Baatar spluttered and spat out a mouthful of drink.

“Oh, for the love’ve - are you two tryin’ ta kill me?”

“I mean, I didn’t lie to you,” Xomni’to said with a shrug. “Momolk’s been workin’ on this thing for ages.”

“Aye, can ya think’ve an easier way to haul in the gil than a drink that’ll sober y’up in a few minutes? All off Limsa’ll be lining up to buy this,” Momolk boasted as she puffed her chest out proudly.

“An’ all for the low low price of keelin’ over not three minutes later.” Baatar scowled into the flask. “Ya sure yer callin’ isn’t in poisinin’ folk?”

“Blow it out yer arse, or I shove the rest a’ that down yer throat.” Momolk’s mood flipped entirely as she pinned the larger Au’ra with a glare. “I spent a lotta gil makin’ it, so you’ll be finishing the whole bottle.”

Baatar grumbled, but choked down the rest of the drink and tossed the empty bottle at Momolk. “There! Done! Happy?”

“Kind of. Now’s the part where we wait t’see what happens t’you,” Momolk said with a shrug. “Get yerself cleaned up - Xomni’n I’ll be waiting for ya downstairs in the restaurant.”

After a quick (cold) bath and several glasses of cold water, Baatar locked up the apartment and met the Molkohs; the  _Nhaama-giin Adislaluud_  was unusually empty considering the time, and besides the Molkohs and the staff there were only a few patrons.

“So? How’re you feeling?” Momolk asked as Baatar took a seat at one of the tables. The way she was side-eyeing her and had her tome open and a quill at the ready did not fill the young marauder with confidence.

“I hate meself for sayin’ it, but not bad.” Baatar rolled her eyes. “An’ before you go thinkin’ your toilet-brew went and fixed me up, it just as well might’ve been me heaving me guts out. Twice.”

“Huh. Well, I s’pose there’s more testin’ to be done, then,” Momolk said, eyes flitting about in thought as she scribbled in her picatrix. “Would y’say you were throwin’ up ‘cause of the drink? Or ‘cause you made some bad choices last night?”

“Both? I mean, I was gonna throw up one way’re ‘nother,” Baatar said thoughtfully. “I think your drink might’ve made the process go a little faster.”

“That’s….not helpful in the slightest.” Momolk shut her book with a defeated sigh. “As usual, when it comes to matters of intellect, you’re no help at all.”

“Told you,” Xomni’to said as picked away at a bowl of stew. “I think you’ll be needing to convince some other folks to drink your concoction, keep a record of’em and how they’re feeling.” He paused, ate a few more spoonfuls of his meal then nodded to himself. “Twelve know there’s no shortage of drunks in the city, present company excluded.”

“Hey, you’re no stranger to the drink, Xomni,” Baatar pointed out.

“Fair enough, but at worst I get home missing some coin and feeling hungover. Never’ve I come home with me shirt torn apart and missing my dignity,” Xomni’to countered, his tone as neutral as though he were discussing the weather.

“I - hrm. I’m not goin’ ta dignify that with an answer,” Baatar said, sniffing the air delicately. “I’ve decided that I’ll not rise to your baiting.”

The Molkohs looked at one another with feigned shock.

“Twelve above, she  _can_  actually learn,” Xomni breathed in awe.

“You go and alert the town, I shall update our logs!” Momolk proclaimed extravagantly.

“Alright, give it a rest, you gibbering idiots.” Baatar huffed, jabbing an accusatory finger at the both of them. “Put us in the pits with axes to fight with and I’ll beat the piss outta both of ya in ten seconds easy: two for Xom, six for Momo, an’ two at the start to just laugh.”

“So it is, but you don’t have to beat me or Momo up - you have to fight Wyrzoen,” Xomni’to pointed out.

“Ah, I’m gonna probably lose anyways,” Baatar said, shrugging. “Even with all these years of trainin’ I can’t beat him more than four or five times in a ten-match.”

“You sound real pleased ‘bout the prospect of gettin’ knocked ‘round,” Momolk commented dryly.

“It’s fun,” Baatar said, scowling as the Molkohs exchanged looks of exasperation. “What? It is! You two wouldn’t understand, what with your fancy books and arithmetics and whatnot. There’s nothing like it. The rush! The thrill! Axe-blades whirling ‘round, clanking steel-upon-steel, blood rushing through yer veins…”

“An’ out yer split skull...” Xomni sighed.

“Which, funny enough, I always have to patch up,” Momolk added in a weary tone.

“Well the idea of’t’s got merit,” Baatar said, frowning in defiance. “Least, I think so.”

“If that’s the case, we might as well put that to the test.” Xomni’to passed Baatar several mutton-stuffed buuz, then got up. “You’ll be fine eating on the way to the guild?”

“Aye, that’ll be so,” Baatar said, tucking the dumplings into a wooden container; the three of them said goodbye to Agujam and Terbish, who were working at the restaurant’s counter, and made their way outside. Baatar ate her dumplings as they walked towards the aetheryte station at the Fisherman’s Guild, and by the time they arrived she’d finished her makeshift meal. The trio used the aetheryte to teleport to the city’s upper decks, and were promptly deposited just outside the Aftcastle.

“Weird,” Baatar said, pausing instead of walking towards the Maurauder’s Guild. “Look, the Maelstrom headquarters - there’s no traffic,” she pointed out. “Last eight-day, the place’s been busy all day, all night.”

“Mmm... I mean, I heard a rumour that there’s some big offensive happening soon,” Xomni’to hummed thoughtfully, “but wouldn’t that mean there’d be more people at their HQ, not less?”

“Might jus’ be a rumour,” Momolk pointed out. “Who’d’ye hear’t from?”

“K'lyhia said she talked to someone who works in the Maelstrom’s supply train,” Xomni’to mused, watching the few Maelstrom staff working at the front desk sit in total silence. “Apparently the orders for the usual goods went up - Maelstrom asked for lots of bandages, poultices, and the like. She said there’s a twenty percent chance they’re stockpiling and an eighty percent chance there’s gonna be a big fight, and soon.”

“I mean, we could just go ask,” Baatar said.

“They’re not going ta tell’y’anything,” Momolk replied with a ‘what can you do’ shrug. “Classified, or some such.”

“I s’pose. Wonder if mom’s alright,” Baatar said slowly.

“Aunty Idree said she’s not at the frontlines,” Momolk said reassuringly.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t worry ‘bout her.”

“Aye, but if you’re going to be worried ‘bout someone it’d be Temulun and the folk over at Pharos, no?” Xomni’to pointed out. “With a Garlean you know what you’ll be getting. Not like the Sahagin.” He shuddered, and shook his head. “I’d take a Garlean bullet over being captured by those fishbacks any day.”

“Rightly so,” Baatar agreed. “Happy I’d be to die fighting a Garlean. No glory in dying to a walking, talking fish.” She paused, and smiled thinly. “Wonder what they taste like.”

Momolk’s eyes glazed over and a wide grin spread across her face. “Oooh. Taste, aye, but I wonder...y’think fishback meat makes for good alchemy?”

“Has to,” Baatar replied. “They’re all dabblin’ in their sea-magics and the like, n- piss, that hurt,” she said, recoiling as Xomni’to punched Baatar and Momolk in the arms.

“There is not a market to be made out of harvesting the meat of our enemies.”

“Pretty sure there is,” Baatar said. “You go and fetch the, I dunno, arses of some fish-wizard and I’ll guarantee you someone you book-folk know’ll want it.”

“That wasn’t - Navigator above, I’m not arguing about this,” Xomni’to said, throwing his arms up in frustration. “It’s a moral thing. You wouldn’t kill a Garlean and then, I don’t know, take his liver, would you?”

“I would if it’d turned out to be that Garlean liver was useful,” Momolk said, nodding.

“I’d do it even if it wasn’t of use.” Baatar shrugged indifferently. “‘Baatar the Liver-Cutter’ has a good ring t’it, no?”

“It does,” Momolk said, nodding again. “You could string their livers all gross-like ‘round you like a necklace! That’d scare the shite out of those bastards.”

“You know, I didn’t think that this morning I’d be defending the sanctity of Garleans and the Sahagin, but clearly I misjudged. How in the seven hells am I the most sane out of the three of us?” Xomni’to groused, massaging his temples with both of his hands. “Can we just go to the guild so Wyrzoen can beat you into silence?”

“I should go ask K’hlyia if you can use Sahagin bits for brewing,” Momolk muttered under her breath as the trio walked off towards the towers of the Marauder’s Guild. “I wonder if I could make a little coin…”

 

The trio threw open the doors to the Marauder’s Guild, and paused as they realized not was nobody manning the front desk, there weren’t any sounds coming from the fighting pits in the basement below.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” Baatar shouted. “Wyrzoen? Blauthota? Anyone?”

Silence answered.

“Queer. There weren’t no sign outside sayin’ the place was closed,” Momolk said, frowning thoughtfully.

“No, they woulda’ locked the doors if it were closed today,” Baatar pointed out. “Maybe Wyrzoen’s in his office? Come on, let’s go take a look-see.” The Molkohs followed closely as Baatar led them up the staircase at the far end of the main hall and into the offices beyond; the corridor bore four doorways, each marked with a small nameplate. Baatar strode up to Wyrzoen’s office and knocked on the door twice.

“Yes, enter,” came the reply. Baatar opened the door to find Wyrnzoen sitting at his desk, staring at a pile of paperwork and taking drinks from a canteen. “Oh, Baatarsaikhan. I’d forgotten you were coming today.”

“Forgotten? That’s not like you, Wyrnzoen,” Baatar said, frowning. “And where’s everyone? There’s nary a person here, it seems.”

“Ah, well, I can’t rightly say I know the answer t’that.” The roegadyn shrugged with a expression on his face that Baatar couldn’t quite place. “Blauthota’s off doing errands today, and, well, frankly there’s really not many people left to do the training.”

“Right, but shouldn’t there still be people practicin’ in the pits?”

“Should, aye, but if they don’t show, they don’t. I’m not in the business of dragging folk off the streets to come ‘ere.” He sighed, and got to his feet. “Come on, then, let’s go see if there aren’t any folk lollygagging downstairs.”

The four of them descended into the basement to find three trainees - Guguhope, Erwin and Catrina. Guguhope was fast asleep, using a balled-up coat as a pillow, while Erwin and Catrina were both eating a lunch of bread and bacon.

“Oi, you lot, normally I’ve no trouble with you lounging about here,” Wyrnzoen said, hands on his hips, “but how’s it that none of you said a word when Baatar hollered for ye? And don’t you lot have work to be done? Last I checked, there’ll be a pile of axes upstairs that need cleanin’ and the like.”

“Dinn’t hear’er,” Erwin said through a mouthful of bread. “Same for Cat, and Gugu’s been asleep for a while now - we’re taking a break.”

“And nobody else’s been through since I went upstairs?”

“Nope.”

“That’s...alright. Well, someone wake Gugu up so we don’t go wakin’ him up when Baatar’n I start sparring.”

Erwin nodded and walked over to Guguhope’s sleeping form; he shook the lalafell awake, and Guguhope got to his feet, rubbing groggily at his eyes. “Why’d you wake me up?”

“Break time’s over,” Catrina said with a scowl. “Back to polishin’ the weapons upstairs, I think.”

“Ah, shite.” Guguhope yawned, then crossed his arms. “And, what, Baatar’s good to do some fightin’? Why’d we have to do the cleanin’?”

“Because,” Wyrnzoen explained, rolling his eyes, “you lot haven’t been on cleanin’ duty for a month.”

“Ah, fine, fine. Come on then, let’s go then,” Erwin said with a smirk. “Save Baatar the shame of havin’ an audience while the Guildmaster knocks her senseless.”

“Not like you’ll be doin’ any better in the pits, Erwin,” Baatar shot back as the three trainees walked past Baatar and the Molkohs. “Try me tomorrow and I’ll smear y’along the walls!”

Laughter came from the group, and soon enough Baatar shed her satchel and walked over to the racks which bore the blunted training axes she so loved; she grabbed one, hefted it, and gave it a few swings before stepping into the pit.

“Come on then,” she said, shifting into a ready stance as Wyrnzoen took an axe for himself. “Let’s fight!”

“If you’re so eager for a thrashing, girl, you come to me!”

“ _Minii sükh ölsgölön_!” Baatar raised her weapon and charged towards the roegadyn, ducked under an incoming strike, blocked Wyrnzoen’s second attack and was promptly knocked to her feet as the roegadyn twirled his axe and smacked her in the face with the haft of his weapon.

“Strike!” Wyrnzoen said, helping Baatar to her feet. “Too much aggression, not enough thinking ahead. There’s no point in committing to an attack that’s going to get you killed. Again!”

This time Baatar feinted to the right and rolled around to the roegadyn’s backside before aiming several swings at his legs; she managed to barely scratch his pants with the last of her attacks before Wyrnzoen hopped backwards and grinned.

“Not bad, not bad - close. Again!”

Their fight continued for nearly ten minutes; Baatar’s strategy quickly shifted to using her smaller size and speed to strafe around the larger roegadyn, poking and picking away at his defences, though more often than not she was violently rebuffed with counter-attacks and reversals that Baatar either was unable to anticipate or incapable of defending against.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Wyrnzoen said, panting as he helped Baatar to her feet yet again. “Well done, if I do say so myself.”

“Twelve. Managed to nick you in the leg twice and the arms once, and that warrants a ‘well done,’ eh?” Baatar groaned, massaging her bruised and aching body.

“Well, we all have’ta start somewhere. If you’d waltzed into the guild and handed me my own arse from the first day I’d frankly be afraid of ye. Momolk, if you’ll patch Baatar up again?”

“Sure. Come on, Baatar, get over here,” Momolk said, shaking her head. Xomni’to stepped forward and helped Baatar limp over to the side of the pit; he eased her into a seated position. Momolk pulled her picatrix, a quill and a pot of aether-conducting-ink out of her bookbag; she flipped to an earmarked page, poured a bit of the viscous black ink into the reservoir of her quill and scribbled a few lines into the book. Moments later the space around Momolk began to shine as stray aether gathered into a complex array, and Baatar sighed as a soothing wave of Physick’s curative magic worked its way through her, sealing cuts and healing her bruises.

“Ahhh, nothing like it. Thanks, Momolk,” Baatar said, stretching her arms and legs out. She hopped to her feet and jogged back into the pits to retrieve her training axe. “So, old man, how’s about another go? Eh? Eh?”

“Navigator, Baatar, give me a minute,” Wyrnzoen said, sitting on one of the side benches and taking several swigs out of a canteen. “And bes-”

“-guys, GUYS!” Guguhope’s voice echoed down from the stairwell, his tone frantic. “Get topside quick-like - some wierd shite’s goin’ on in the sky!”

“What wierd shite are y’on about, boy?” Wyrnzoen asked, his expression sobering.

“Just...I dunno! Everything’s getting all dark like it’s night or summat.”

“Alright, keep your head on, we’re coming.” Wyrnzoen placed his training axe on one of the nearby racks and waited for Baatar to do the same; their gear stowed, the group made their way upstairs. Erwin and Catrina were holding the guild’s doors open, and Guguhope was standing just outside, staring at the sky.

It was, according to the chronomoter by the entrance, three in the afternoon. Baatar had certainly experienced no shortage of overcast days, and in the midst of winter Limsan evenings began roughly around four o’clock,, with the city plunged into the dark of night by five.

This was different.

The second moon of Eorzea - usually little more than a red dot in the sky - was massive. Oh, it had been growing larger over the past few months, but it had never served as more than a thing of curiosity for her. Now, though, it loomed large in the sky, and it seemed to be glowing a faint blue. Far more concerning were the streaks of black which were pulsating out of it; these black streaks seemed to paint the afternoon sky the shade of night, as though it were the dead of night around the moon.

“O….okay,” Wyrnzoen said slowly. “That’s, uh, that’s not right. Not in the slightest.”

“There’s an ill omen if I’ve ever seen one,” Xomni’to said. “What in the seven hells is up with the moon? And the sky?”

“You...you think we should go tell the Maelstrom folks ‘bout this?” Erwin asked slowly.

“They’ve gotta know,” Momolk pointed out. “Not that hard to look up and see this shite, innit? ‘Sides,” she countinued, her expression growing grim as she pointed. “I think the redcoats are well aware of, ah, what’s goin’ on.”

Baatar and the others followed her finger as she pointed to the east; there, the horizon was burning, seemingly ablaze in an unholy streak of fiery red.

“What in the fuck is that?” Baatar shouted. “Is the sky...is the sky on fire?”

“What was it you said again, Xomni?” Momolk asked quietly. “Eighty percent chance of their gearing up for a fight?”

“Aye, that I did,” Xomni’to said uneasily. “Nothing about the bleeding sky going ablaze.”

“Listen, you kids need to get home,” Wyrnzoen said, his voice steel. “All of you. Get home, get to your families, stay safe.”

“What, you think, I don’t know, the Garleans have some foul magic or something?” Catrina asked, her tone not quite beyond disbelief at what she was seeing.

“Can’t be,” Baatar said, frowning. “Garleans can’t do magics, I thought.”

“Look, I don’t care what this shite is or who’s doin’ it - something’s happenin’ and whatever it is it can’t be good,” Wyrnzoen shouted. “Go! Get! And whatever happens you stick together, alright?”

“To the hells with that, Wyrn, I’m no-”

Wyrnzoen punched Baatar’s arm hard enough that the only noise she could make was a gurgled cry, then knelt down to stare directly into her eyes.

“You listen to me, Baatar! This isn’t going to...oh, shite.”

All argument died as a neon-red streak blasted out from the crimson moon and slowly, almost languidly, a ball of fire and smoke soared clear over Limsa Lominsa as Eorzea’s second moon burst apart in a blue-white explosion that filled the air with an ear-splitting screech which carried across the entire realm, filling Baatar with a terror so wild, so primal, so deep that every instinct in her body demanded she curl up into a ball and simply wait to die.

“...run,” Wyrnzoen breathed, his tone brooking no argument. “ _Now_.”

Baatar and the others didn’t argue this time. They took off down the street towards the aetheryte station, and stopped as they noticed a dozen or so people standing around the shard, which was no longer glowing.

“Blasted thing won’t work!,” someone shouted.

“How the fuck’s the ‘ryte not workin’?” Baatar said in disbelief.

“Later,” Momolk said, tugging on Baatar’s shirt. “We’ll run the way - come on!”

Erwin, Guguhope and Catrina split off from their group, heading towards their home which lay on the far side of the upper decks, while Baatar, Momolk and Xomni’to took the nearest ramp down onto the main deck of the city. They paused partway as something slammed into a nearby tower, exploding into a shower of purple flames which reeked so badly of rot and decay that Baatar and Momolk retched. Xomni’to, on the other hand, simply vomited up the content of his lunch, and swore viciously.

“How’d the Garleans manage this shite?” Baatar shouted, pulling Xomni’to to his feet.

“Magitek, maybe,” Momolk said, staring blankly at the fires which were spreading across the stone of the city as though it were wood. “Has to be. Has to be.”

“What, built? You think the Garleans built the fucking moon?” Baatar replied.

“Not Garlemald, Allag,” Xomni’to coughed, dry-heaving as he got his balance under him. “It makes sense. Only way it makes sense.”

“What the fuck’s an Allag?” Baatar said, eyes wild.

“Later, please,” Momolk said, snapping her gaze away from the fires.

They descended the ramp and were just entering the city square when another barrage of things - Baatar wasn’t sure if it was chunks of moon or something else - impacted the city, tearing through buildings and people alike with contemptuous ease. More of the purple fires flared to life, and soon the three were sprinting through the streets, bobbing and weaving through crowds of screaming, burning people, past people and old friends and acquaintances trapped beneath mountains of flaming rubble.

They passed Hawkers’ Alley. Passed children curled over maimed parents. Passed entire apartment blocks being reduced to ash. Passed entire city streets torn apart by black-red chunks of shrapnel, each the size of a galleon.

Baatar had no idea how long they’d been running, or why she was bleeding from dozens of places all over her body or why she was limping, but they’d arrived, mostly intact (somehow) at the docks by the Fisherman’s Guild, able to see the sky unobstructed.

The sun was gone. All the way to the horizon was a sea of pitch-black fog which filled the air above them; the entire sky seemed to be filled with endless streams of flaming projectiles, some hitting the city and countless more heading to lands beyond.

Then, something else.

The aether around them rippled with a sensation so vile it made Baatar’s skin ache; beside her, Xomni’to stared wild-eyed at the sky while Momolk began crying silently.

Baatar tried to speak, but could not; the air began to fill with a smell that reeked of burning metal and all of the sounds behind her - screaming, burning, crying - simply stopped.

A blur shot through the sky above.

A roar split the skies, loud enough that it sent Baatar to her knees in pain.

Then a shower of red lights which sprayed through the air above them, slamming into the buildings behind them and into the waters in front.

Everything turned into fire. Even the ocean was a raging inferno; the ungodly purple fires seemed to be feeding upon the water itself.

“How….how? How’s the water on fire?” Baatar whispered. Or she thought she whispered. She could not know, for she could not even hear her own voice.

More lights. More screaming. More fire.

An impact so loud Baatar’s vision swam.

Her eyes went wide as she realized another flurry of shrapnel - it had to be pieces of the moon - had hit the waters beyond the city with such force that a tidal wave, five, maybe ten storeys high, maybe more, was coming towards Limsa Lominsa faster than anything Baatar had ever known to go.

She tried to grab her siblings, tried to get away behind something, anything, when Momolk screamed something at Xomni’to.

Xomni’to simply sobbed something unintelligible, waved his hands at the coming tides in meek defense.

Baatar watched as though time itself were slowing to a crawl as Momolk tore her picatrix from her satchel and flipped to one of the pages in the back, tears running down the lalafell’s face as she began scribbling furiously before holding the book aloft, her eyes defiant.

“PROTE-PROTECTJA!”

A bastion of blue hexagons laced with chains of swirling runes and sigils flared to life around the three of them, aether surging through and around Momolk’s tiny frame, shining in the darkness like a lighthouse. Baatar watched the waves coming towards them, carrying boats and rocks and debris along as though they were little more than mere fish.

Momolk stood, book open and pages spinning into a blur, visibly straining as the tendrils of bright blue aether snaked out from her body to reinforce the barrier, and Baatar dimly realized that Momolk was sobbing in agony, blood dribbling out of her mouth and nose and weeping a drop of blood for her every tear as she whispered prayers with her every strained breath.

“Llymlaen... Thaliak...” she breathed, her voice choked with aether and misery and terror. “Rhalgr... Nald and Thal and Halone and Ifrit and Leviathan and... and... and anyone... please... make it stop... make it stop...”

The lalafell’s words were solemn and desperate, pleading for mercy from any who could hear.

The waves ignored her utterly. They slammed into the barrier and punched through it as though it were wet paper.

Baatar grabbed the Molkohs and wrapped herself around them as best as she could and felt something bludgeon her into darkness.

 

 

She woke up, eventually.

“M...mo? Xom-” She coughed, trying to get the words out, and screamed as a storm of pain shot through her body. The shock forced her eyes open, and Baatar gasped, choked, and threw up what felt like a hundred mouthfuls of water before she could see straight.

She wasn’t sure where she was; she was leaned up against a wall of what might have been a half-submerged apartment. Baatar tried to get to her feet and howled in pain as something stopped her from doing so, and she looked down to find a massive piece of wood pinning her left arm to the wall behind her.

She sat still for what felt like an eternity, trying to clear her head.

_Okay. Breathe. Calm. Focus. Think. Have to find Xomni and Momo. Have to get off this wall._

Baatar grit her teeth and hissed as she sat slightly more upright, and with a bit of stretching she was able to see that she wasn’t bolted to the wall; the wood which had pierced her arm had actually stopped her from being flush with the wall, and a small length of wood was propping her arm up. She cursed and swore and shouted as she manouvered herself into a better angle, then punched at the wood behind her with all her strength until it loosened enough to let her pull away from the wall.

Now, she was leaned up against a nearby piece of wrecked furniture, and she examined her wound; there was still a massive chunk of wood stuck inside her arm which extended maybe half a yalm beyond her skin. She knew better than to tear the thing out of her, but she wasn’t going to be going anywhere with the length of shrapnel sticking out of her either.

_You can do this. If you can’t deal with a little stick like this you’ll never be killing Garleans by the thousands. Come on!_

She prepared herself as best she could, rolled onto her side and began punching away at the wood again until, knuckles bleeding and her hands raw, she managed to split most of the shrapnel away. Baatar did her best not to think about the wood and metal which was still inside her arm, and stumbled to her feet, truly taking in her surroundings. Daylight shone through the ruins of the building she was in, and Baatar was relieved to find that she was still on the main deck of the city - the waters beyond seemed to be that of the sea - and to her shock those purple fires were still burning. Even more disturbing were the massive crags of multicolour crytals which were visible in the distance; they pulsed and seethed in a way that made her head hurt.

Ignoring the fires and the newly-arrived crystals - thankfully she seemed to be unable to smell anything - Baatar limped out towards the water and did her best to figure out where she was; she vaguely recognized what looked like the ruins of the city’s central aetheryte maybe ten or twenty yalms away.

_Am I in the middle of the city? How’n the hells did I get here? And where is everyone?_

“Hello?” she said, trying to shout; it came out as more of a rasping noise than anything. “Momo? Xomni? Anyone?” She began wandering around the ruins of the town’s square, dimly aware of screams and crying all around her. She followed the noises, pulling away rubble whenever she could see what looked like limbs or people trapped beneath.

Most of the people she found were dead or dying. Missing limbs. Burnt but still breathing. Body parts crushed.

She paid them no mind. She paid nobody any mind.

By the time she found Momolk and Xomni’to crumpled beneath a small pile of destroyed houses, the sun was beginning to set. The two of them were unconscious and breathing, but that was the end of the good news; both were horribly charred, their skin peeling and cracked and oozing pus. Momolk’s left leg was bent out shape, and Xomni’to legs were pinned to the ground by a massive stone. Baatar screamed in terror and fury and anger and sorrow, and tore the rock off Xomni’to. She tried to lift the two Molkohs and swore as her body gave out, wracked again by another jolt of pain which brought her to the ground.

_No. No! NO! I can carry them. I CAN CARRY THEM! I DID NOT COME THIS FAR TO LEAVE THEM HERE!_

Baatar ignored the pain and the wounds which were reopening and every part of her body and mind telling her that she simply did not have the strength to carry the siblings and lifted them - Xomni’to over her shoulder, Momolk under her arms - off the ground.

_Need to find a healer. Maelstrom. Up._

Baatar walked through the ruins of Limsa Lominsa, oblivious to anyone and everything around her that was not a healer. She had one goal, and only one goal now - and though blood was seeping out from the wounds which covered her body and every step was pure, unadulterated agony, Baatar would not, could not stop.

She wasn’t sure how she managed to get up to the top deck of Limsa - or what remained of it, anyway. The Maelstrom headquarters had been pulverized and its ruins were still ablaze thanks to the unholy purple-fire, but a makeshift command centre complete with medical tents was laid out in the ruins of the Aftcastle, and she walked straight towards the healers who were working there.

So engrossed in their work were the healers that nobody noticed her until she was right in the midst of the chirurgeons and mages who were slaving over their patients; a miqo’te woman dressed in tattered healers’ robes was the first to see her.

“Twelve’s SHIT! Oh, gods,  _how are you walking_?” the woman screeched.

“Heal them. You have to heal them,” Baatar said weakly, setting Xomni’to and Momolk’s charred bodies on the ground. “You - you have to-”

“They’ll be fine, someone will help them! You need to lay down, now!”

“No. No, I can’t,” Baatar said, trying to push the woman away. “Br - I can’t - need to help -”

“Shush, shush, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Just sleep,” the woman said, casting some sort of spell.

_No_ , Baatar thought as her vision swam and the healer laid her on the ground.  _Can’t sleep. Can’t-_

 

 

* * *

 

**END OF PROLOGUE THREE**

 

 

> PARTY:
> 
>  
> 
> Baatarsaikhan Kha
> 
> Race: Au Ra, Xaela
> 
> Age: 18
> 
> Class: Marauder Trainee
> 
>  
> 
> Xomni'to Molkoh
> 
> Race: Miqo'te, Keeper of The Moon
> 
> Age: 18
> 
> Class: Arcanist Trainee
> 
>  
> 
> Momolk Molkoh
> 
> Race: Lalafell, Dunesfolk
> 
> Age: 18
> 
> Class: Arcanist, Level 1


	4. AFTERMATH

**INTERLUDE I: AFTERMATH**  
  
 **13TH SUN OF THE THIRD UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
The nightmare never stopped.  
  
The retreat from the Cartenau Flats was unlike anything Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn had ever experienced; even before Dalamud had shattered and loosed Bahamut upon Eorzea, the scale of carnage taking place upon the battlefield was almost beyond comprehension. Even as the forces of the Eorzean Alliance had begun their retreat, even amidst all the chaos, the horrors she'd seen would never leave her mind.  
  
All of the Cartenau Flats behind her as she sped away on her chocobo, and she could barely see the scorched ground beneath the sea of bodies. Corpses of every sort, blasted and churned into a bloody pulp. Smoking wrecks of Garlean machina, their chassis' pitted with damage and smeared with gore. And Bahamut's fire? That, too, was something she'd not soon forget. Horrid, stinking, terrible purple flames which cooked men alive and consumed the dead with ravenous hunger.  
  
Merlwyb had never watched a man, let alone ten thousand men, burn to death.  
  
Two days had passed, and standing ramrod still upon the deck of the  _Triumph_  Merlwyb watched in horror as the city she called home -  _her_ city - came into view.  
  
She'd known it wouldn't be a pretty sight; the charred bodies floating in the waters all around Limsa had seen to that. But nothing could have prepared her to see the once-proud towers of Limsa Lominsa reduced to a smoking heap of waterlogged rubble. Navigator's blessings, the upper deck of the city hadn't  _totally_  collapsed and crushed everything beneath, and though those ungodly purple fires still burned in some spots it appeared that many more places around the city had managed to put their infernos to rest. Navigating through the waters was a slow affair; the waters were thick with rubble, debris and so many mangled bodies that the ship seemed to be sailing through a blood-red stew.  
  
"Admiral, we'll be gettin' you onto land as soon as we find a suitable place to dock," Vice-Admiral Eynzahr Slafyrsyn said from behind her.  
  
Merlwyb grunted in acknowledgement, and both stood at the railings in silence for many minutes.  
  
"Limsa...she'll be right again soon enough," Eynzahr said quietly.  
  
"She will. For every stone that has been loosed, for every house destroyed, for every man killed - you need not cheer me up, Eynzahr. I have my fury and my hate."  
  
"We'll make the Garleans pay, Admiral. But that comes later."  
  
"Hmph."  
  
With all of the piers destroyed, finding a spot safe enough for Merlwyb's flagship ended up being nigh-impossible; in the end, the crew had given up and simply loaded all of the surviving command staff into a rowboat and ferried them to shore. They arrived at what might have been the city's intake docks - she thought she could see what might have once been the customs office and Arcanist's Guild - and were promptly greeted by a handful of Maelstrom officers who looked as though they'd seen better decades. The highest-ranking amongst them - a lowly, battered-looking, dark-skinned and bald hyur who bore the rank of Sergeant Second Class - stepped forward and saluted.  
  
"Admiral, a pleasure to have you back."  
  
"Name?"  
  
"Sergeant Second Class Moldan Blacke, Admiral," the hyur said. "The Maelstrom's headquarters were partially destroyed, as were your offices. We've set up a makeshift command center in the ruins of the Aftcastle."  
  
"Take me there."  
  
"At once, ma'am."  
  
As the group passed through the city, Merlwyb's anger grew and grew until she was clenching her fists so hard they hurt. Limsa Lominsa, once the shining jewel of the seaside, was gone. Towering mountains of stone and brickwork spoke to countless lives lost, and though the streets had mostly been emptied of corpses there were still enough that the city resembled the victim of an artillery strike. Where once she would have simply used the aetheryte stations or taken a ramp up to the top deck, the group had to take a winding detour (marked by new, makeshift signs) that brought them through the length of the city until they could find a way up.  
  
"Apologies for the delay," Sergeant Blacke said, his voice tight. "Far as we know there are only two safe ways up to what's left of the top decks."  
  
"And the unsafe methods?"  
  
"Couple ramps out by the east docks are intact enough that a few brave souls have climbed 'em, but they look rickety as all hells. Engineers say those things can support the weight of a few lalafell, aye, but any more than that and they're likely to fall to pieces."  
  
"They've been causing delays, haven't they."  
  
"Yes, Admiral. Hard to move people'n'supplies up'n'down with only the two ramps. For now we've reserved one for the Maelstrom, the other for civilians."  
  
Soon enough they arrived at the Maelstrom's command center; in reality it was little more than a forest of tents and hastily-erected shacks. The entire Aftcastle had been designated off-limits to civilians save for those visiting the injured who lay in the medical center which had been constructed near the ruins of the old headquarters, and so save for the throngs of Maelstrom soldiers who stood at silent attention when Merlwyb passed none bothered her. Her own command tent was a spacious one, and she sat down at the desk with a sigh as her command staff took their seats around her.  
  
"So, Sergeant Blacke, will you be fetching someone to give a report?" Merlwyb asked, dreading the answer she knew was about to come.  
  
"I'm...sorry, Admiral. I'm the highest ranking survivor we've found so far," Moldan said with poorly-concealed sorrow. "Gods...I...gods  _dammnit_. The last man above me was First Lieutenant Toegthuv, and he died this morning."  
  
"That's - we all have lost much in the past days," Merlwyb said in her most commanding voice. "That's no excuse to wallow in self-pity, Sergeant. The people of this city are counting on you. The Maelstrom is counting on you. I am counting on you. Report."  
  
"Y-yes, Admiral! Off the bat, the damage you've seen so far is indicative of the surrounding areas. Limsa's shot to the hells, and from what our scouts report the countryside 'round us doesn't look much better. Infastructure-wise we're already workin' on patchwork solutions - getting the ramps and piers repaired and the gates to the city fixed are our top priorities."  
  
"How're the bridges connecting us to the mainland looking?"  
  
"Navigator be praised, they're mostly intact. Engineers say we'd be mad to run carts along them, but they'll hold men walking along them just fine. The real problem's the gates leading to the bridges - they're a wreck."  
  
"Estimated time to repair them?"  
  
"We're looking at an order of several months at best, Admiral. We just don't have the manpower, the resources or the equipment to carry out any major repairs. If the Sahagin came a'knockin' tonight we'll be in serious trouble."  
  
"What about our other holdings?"  
  
"Hard to say - our scouts haven't gone far beyond the city limits, and linkpearls are still spotty at best. Still, we've heard rumours that drydocks at Moraby made it through this nightmare mostly untouched."  
  
"Food stocks? Medical supplies? Given the...situation at large, I don't think trade's an option, not for a while," Merlwyb pointed out.  
  
A weak smile spread across Moldan's face, and the man barked a laugh that had absolutely no humour in it. "Navigator be praised, we have so many people dead that our food stocks, meager as they are, will last us ages. We've got plenty of fish, fresh and salted alike. Medicine's our real problem - we've only got so many conjurers and even fewer who could be called masters at the art - and our healers are already having to ration our supplies. What I wouldn't give for a white mage or two." He sighed, and shook his head. "We've not had to triage bad enough to turn away the ill, but at this rate..."  
  
Nobody said anything for a long while.  
  
"I understand. Moldan Blacke, at this moment you've been promoted to the rank of Commodore, with all of the rights, privileges and duties that entails."  
  
Moldan's face fell, and he shook his head. "I...I can't, Admiral. I'm not cut out for't-"  
  
"-that is an  _order_  from your Admiral, Commodore Blacke. I will not accept otherwise at the moment. I need a full report on our situation and I want it by tonight. We need an inventory on everything the Maelstrom has at its command right now - ships, weapons, food, medicine, men. I want criers in the streets asking for recruits and volunteers to help labour and guard the walls of the city - we need every able-bodied person we can get. Effective immediately both ramps that move to the upper decks are reserved for Maelstrom use, save for folks visitin' the wounded and the like. Salvage teams can start plugging the holes in our walls with rubble until we can find something else. Everyone reports back to me in-" she paused to check a portable chronometer on her desk "- three hours with preliminary results. Questions?"  
  
Shakes of heads all around.  
  
"Good. Dismissed."  
  
Merlwyb watched the tent empty save for Eynzahr, and the two sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the shouts and cries outside.  
  
She unclipped her pistols from her belt, removed her overcoat and dug through a storage chest nearby; she found a bottle of rum and two glasses, poured her and her Vice-Admiral enough for a single swallow, and passed Eynzahr a glass.  
  
"What's the ocassion, ma'am?"  
  
"This," Merlwyb said slowly as she looked at the rum in the glass, "is the only alcohol you and I are going to be drinking until we get things squared away."  
  
"You're telling me?"  
  
"I'm telling myself."  
  
"Of course. Who do we toast?"  
  
"This is for the dead and the dying, and for those still living. To rebuilding. To a future. And to revenge upon the Garleans."  
  
"To revenge."  
  
They drank; Merlwyb savoured the sweet liquid as it burned its way into her stomach.  
  
She set the glasses down, and closed her eyes for a moment.  
  
When she opened them, her expression was steel and resolve. "Let's go. We have rounds to make and men to inspect."  
  
"Of course, Admiral."

 

* * *

 

 

The nightmares never stopped.  
  
Momolk and Xomni'to and Oyuunchimeg and Terbish and Agujam and Dalaichin and everyone else.  
  
All on fire.  
  
Their skin bubbling and cooking and peeling away to reveal the white-bone skulls beneath.  
  
"You couldn't save us," Momolk said, her charred corpse crawling towards her. "You couldn't save us."  
  
"Help," Xomni'to cried, laying blackened, cooked hands upon her body. "Help. Help. Help."  
  
"You couldn't save me," Idertuuya said, stumbling forward with a Garlean sword sticking out of her gut, trailing blood as she walked. "You couldn't save your own mother and you couldn't save me either."  
  
"You're a failure, Baatar," Xomni'to said, crawling up her body like a flaming insect, his burnt eyes staring into hers. "You're a failure. This is all your fault, Baatar. Baatar, do you hear me? We're dead because of you, Baatar.  
  
They were tearing her apart and she could do nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

**14TH SUN OF THE THIRD UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Kugane, Hingashi**  
  
  
"NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!"  
  
"Kanna, stop, stop! It's okay, it's okay, just relax!"  
  
Kanna Minamoto sobbed as she sat upright, shaking as tears streamed down her face.  
  
“Oi, oi, relax, Kanna, it’s alright,” Captain Moriie Tsurugi said, shaking the girl’s shoulders and patting her on the back. “Lass, it’s fine, it’s fine, nothing to worry ‘bout.”  
  
Kanna rocked back and forth as she buried her face in her superior’s chest; she spent many minutes crying until, at last, the tears stopped. Moriie sighed, and got up to fetch Kanna a glass of water.  
  
"What's the matter, Kanna? Another nightmare?" Moriie Tsurugi had always worried about his assistant’s propensity to dream; so often these were strange visions, of far-away lands and people she did not know. A gift from the kami, some said, and previously he’d been inclined to agree. But two months ago, the dreams had become nightmares; visions of fire and countless dead, of men being cooked alive, of great battlefields were thousands lay slaughtered in the ground, of entire continents being set ablaze. And, ever since Dalamud, the second moon, had grown and shattered into nothingness two days prior, Kanna's nightmares had worsened.  
  
Now, Kanna awoke as many as a dozen times in a single night, screaming and crying and terrified; the other soldiers in the barracks were less resentful than they were afraid.  
  
"Do you wish to speak of what you saw, Kanna? Was it the fires again?"  
  
"Oh, by the gods themselves, the fire," Kanna whispered. "Everywhere. Fire as far as the eye can see. Everyone burning, everything burning. I - nobody could stop it. Nobody could save them all."  
  
"Shush, Kanna, it's alright, it's alright. Just a nightmare, just a dream."  
  
"No, Captain," Kanna insisted, her voice growing louder. "Not a dream. It was real. They burned, and nobody could help them."  
  
"They?"  
  
"Across the sea. They broke the moon and, and, and they unsealed the fire," Kanna said, her eyes glazing over. "And they burned for it."

 

* * *

 

 

**Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
“Shite, she’s wakin’ up again - hold her down! Fetch the calming draught!”  
  
Baatar woke up screaming, furiously trying to push the burning ghosts of the dead away from her when several sets of powerful hands held her down; she struggled as someone poured a cold liquid down her throat.  
  
“Calm, lass! Calm, calm! You’re alright, you’re safe! Stop strugglin’, will ye?”  
  
Baatar continued to fight for several moments before something clicked, and she stopped.  
  
“There ye go. Just relax, lass, just relax.”  
  
Baatar opened her eyes slowly, wincing as the light of the midday sun bored into her skull. Several people she didn’t recognize stood above her, and once satisfied that she would not begin fighting again they stepped back.  
  
“Xomni,” she rasped. “Momo. Whe-”  
  
“I’m here, Baatar, I’m right here,” came Xomni’to’s voice from just out of sight.  
  
“Momo?”  
  
“She’s alright. Sleeping.”  
  
Baatar sighed in relief and closed her eyes. “Nhaama, thank you.” She paused, tried to move her legs and yelped as a jolt of pain shot through her.  
  
“You’ll not be movin’ anytime soon, lass,” came the voice from before - a deep voice, deeper than Xomni’to’s, like that of an old man. “Your body’s a wreck, plainly.”  
  
“Who...who’re you?”  
  
“Helpful Park. We’ve been healin’ you and the two you brought t’us for three days, now,” said the man.  
  
“They’re - they’re okay?”  
  
“Aye, we’ll live,” Xomni’to said.  
  
“Here, take a look for yourself,” Helpful Park said, carefully easing Baatar into a sitting position; she looked down to find almost all of her body wrapped in bandages, and though looking around was difficult she did so anyways.  
  
She was in a medical tent with dozens of other wounded persons; healers, some bearing the red coat of the Maelstrom and many more who looked like civilians toiled over their charges. Helpful Park was, as Baatar had assumed from his name, a roegadyn man whose white hair and beard signalled him as an old man indeed; Xomni’to was in the bed to her right, and Baatar hissed as she realized that, while he was alive, he certainly did not look the part.  
  
The right side of Xomni’to’s face was a dark, discoloured patch of burnt and dead skin; his right eye was discoloured, a milky white to the blue of his other. His right arm and leg were heavily wrapped with bandages, and his chest too bore the same blackened discolouration.  
  
“Oh, shite. You’re...are...does it hurt?”  
  
“A little,” Xomni’to said with a weak smile. “Not as much as when I first awoke.”  
  
“Indeed. Xomni’to here is burnt, aye, but his skin’s healing well and he, as far as we can tell, still has a little bit of sight in that eye.” Helpful Park sighed, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you covered him’n Momolk with your own body?”  
  
“Aye, I did,” Baatar said, wincing as she spoke.  
  
“I s’pose that’d explain the burns on yer back.”  
  
“Momolk?” Baatar turned to her left to find the lalafell girl fast asleep and snoring lightly; Helpful Park smiled sadly as he gestured to the bandages on her face and chest.  
  
“She’ll live. Burned a a fair bit, but not as bad as Xomni’to - it's kept mostly to her face and chest. She'll heal up in time too. He told me she cast a spell far above her reach?”  
  
“Aye. Protectja,” Xomni’to said.  
  
“Aether deprivation,” Helpful Park explained. “Drained herself to the bone - you don’t get to cast a spell of the most powerful sort when you’re barely into the guild proper without trouble. She just needs time to rest; her body’ll take in the aether she needs soon enough.”  
  
“And meself?” Baatar said, motioning to her bandage-wrapped body.  
  
“You, miss, are going nowhere. We found you walking on two broken legs with shattered ribs, a piece of shrapnel jammed in your left arm and enough cuts to bleed an aldgoat dry - and you were carrying your two friends around, I might add. It’s a miracle you’re alive, and the only reason you’ll be keeping any of your limbs is thanks to the conjurers who saved you,” Helpful Park said in a stern tone. “Frankly, I’ll not be understandin’ how you were walking at all in your state, let alone carryin’ your friends around.”  
  
“I...I dunno,” Baatar said sheepishly as Helpful Park passed her a canteen of water. “I, uh, I had to help them, so I did.”  
  
“So you did,” Helpful Park repeated in disbelief. “Well, the three of you will be going nowhere until you’ve all fully healed. D’you three have family ta go to?”  
  
“I...well, yes,” Baatar replied uneasily. “But I’ll not be knowin’ if they survived all...this.”  
  
“Mmm. Well, your Xaela folks aren’t exactly easy to hide in a crowd - I can’t leave the medical tents, but I’ll see if I can’t ask around about your folks.”  
  
“Thanks to ye, Helpful Park. I’ll be in yer debt.”  
  
“Don’t thank me, lass. If I bring you bad news I’ll not have you say you owe me anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

**29TH SUN OF THE THIRD UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
Twenty-six Xaela of the Kha clan had come to Eorzea.  
  
Now, there were four.  
  
Oyuunchimeg had done the best out of them; she had been delivering a shipment of baked goods to the drydocks at Moraby Bay the day of the Calamity, and thus had been spared from the worst of the damage. Then came Terbish. The old man had somehow survived the fires and quakes and tidal wave with nothing more than a broken leg, and now spent his days helping the Maelstrom, lending them his considerable talents as a surgeon and healer.  
  
Idertuuya had returned to the city only a few days prior in a cart full of wounded; she hadn’t been at the frontlines at Carteneau, but her rear echelon unit hadn’t been spared in the slightest. Idertuuya had survived, somehow, but had paid the price - her left leg had been amputated at the knee, and while the conjurers had managed to save her left arm Idertuuya retained little use of it.  
  
That left Baatarsaikhan. Battered and bruised, she’d managed to make it through with all of her limbs intact - but her body was more scar than skin at this point, and her right horn would take a while to grow back.  
  
There was no funeral.  
  
There wasn’t a shortage of bodies - the rubble-clearers and salvagers had found so many that they’d more or less given up trying to bury them properly, and most of the corpses were so mangled that there was no way to identify who was who.  
  
So it was that they’d returned to their old street, and over the course of a day or so cleared away the rubble of the restaurant and what little remained of their apartment building. Now they sat in a Maelstrom-provided tent, eating fish stew and drinking boiled water.  
  
“I...I don’t think I can stay here, eeja,” Baatarsaikhan said slowly as what remained of the Kha and the Molkohs sat in morose quiet. “I just...I can’t.”  
  
“Where’ll you go, little warrior?” Idertuuya asked quietly, her expression flat.  
  
“Somewhere. Not here.”  
  
“Baatar, there’s nowhere else to go,” Oyuunchimeg said. “Trade routes are barely up between Limsa and the farms, what’s left of ‘em, anyway, an’ the-”  
  
“-I found a ship. The folks who brought us to Eorzea in the first place, they - what’s left of ‘em, they had an old ship tucked away inlan’,” Baatar explained, not daring to look in the eyes of the others. “They need deckhands.”  
  
“So that’s it, lass?” Terbish said, shaking his head. “You’ll just be leaving?”  
  
“Like so.”  
  
“You should stay, my little one,” Idertuuya said. “There’s so much work to be done. Houses, streets, lives to rebuild. The Maelstrom - the city - needs every soul it can get.”  
  
“Then other folk can do as they like. Me, I - I can’t - I won’t - I don’t sleep anymore, eewa. The nightmares, I,-”  
  
“-it’s alright. You don’t need t’explain,” Idertuuya said, sighing.  
  
“Y’approve, then?”  
  
“No, I don’t. All this, and my daughter decides to leave me sight? No. Not happy at all. But...but if you must go to make your peace, so it is.” Idertuuya shrugged, a resigned look on her face. “Just promise that you’ll come home, and safely so. That you’ll write when you can. That you’ll send word of your being safe and sound.”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
“And you, Momolk? Xomni’to? Will you be following Baatarsaikhan?”  
  
“Aye, we will,” Momolk said, staring into her stew. Her burns had healed relatively well, though that was only in comparison to most corpses. It appeared that either the Twelve or the Dreadwyrm had some kind of sick sense of irony, as her left side almost perfectly mirrored her brother’s right. “There’s naught for us here anymore ‘sides you three, an’ it’s the same like Baatar. Hard to stay.”  
  
“Our burns,” Xomni’to added, gesturing blankly towards the outside. “I...we’ve made our peace with them. But not the city. I look at the city and I can feel the heat again, the screaming, the fear. I’ll...I love you, aunty Idree, uncle Terbish, cousin Oyuun, but I can’t stay neither. We’ll come back, aye, but...time abroad, mayhaps it’ll be good for us all.”  
  
“I have a condition, actually,” Terbish said after a moment of silence. “We’ll be speaking with these goodly sailors. Not that I don’t trust them, mind, but I think it’ll be our right as the remaining elders to see where our children’ll be going.”  
  
“Fair enough. I’ll fetch’em.” Baatar got up and disappeared from the tent, and returned several minutes later with Arnar, the old hyuran sailor from the Big Kweh. His dark skin was far more wrinkled than the adults remembered, and he wore his head bald in place of the shock of blonde hair that he’d once had.  
  
“Ah, Idertuuya, Terbish, it’ll be good t’see you. And you’d be Oyuunchimeg, yes?” Arnar said with a small bow. “I’m hoping you’ll recall me.”  
  
“Arnar. Arnar Clark,” Idertuuya said, hobbling up on her crutch to shake hands with the man. “We never did see you again after you dropped us off. It’s good to see you well.”  
  
“And you, Idree. Terbish, well met?”  
  
“Well met, Master Clark.”  
  
“And you, Oyuunchimeg - you’ve grown into a fine lass.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Arnar hugged and shook hands with everyone, before settling into one of the seats. “So? Baatar said you folk wished to speak with me ‘bout me a-takin’ her away.”  
  
“Aye,” Terbish said sadly. “Now, I was always thinking that the  _Big Kweh_ ’s crew were...not exactly average merchantmen.”  
  
“What?” Oyuunchimeg said, frowning. “Why?”  
  
“You were a young lass then, as was Baatar,” Arnar noted. “There’ll be a reason none of you lot saw us again - and I’ll wager Idree knows the why of it.”  
  
“Mmm. I never did hear of you lot by name, but some of the info and intel we got seemed to be written as you lot’d speak,” Idertuuya replied.  
  
“Well, ah, let’s just say we spent a lot of time at sea, ah, carousin’ with the Garleans and slipping things under their noses.”  
  
“Oh, gods. You lot were pirates?” Baatar said, eyes wild.  
  
“Ah, we preferred the term privateer. More accurate.”  
  
“Same difference. That’s...that’s incredible. I never in me wildest dreams thought you lot were pirates,” Baatar said, amazed.  
  
“Which brings me back to why I requested you come here. So, given your...less than reputable past, no matter how deserving your targets were,” Terbish continued, “I’ll not be lettin’ Baatar or Momolk or Xomni’to ‘board yer ship if you’ll be bringing them to sea to do the Maelstrom’s fightin’ again.” He frowned, his tone steely. “We’ve lost enough. I won’t allow you to take more from us.”  
  
Arnar’s expression was one of both pain and relief, and he shook his head with a sad laugh. “Aye, Master Terbish, there’ll be no privateering for us no more. The  _Big Kweh_ ’s gone, she is, and the  _Little Kweh_  we had in reserve’s more akin t’a schooner than the big guns we had before. All we’ll be doing is running goods ‘twixt the major cities as best we can. Maelstrom’s paying in advance to rebuild trade and communication lines. It’ll be honest work,” Arnar said, gesturing to Baatar and the Molkohs, “for honest folk.”  
  
“No fighting, save for self-defense,” Idertuuya pressed. “Give your word. Swear to me upon the Twelve that you’ll keep them safe.”  
  
“Upon me soul, and as the Twelve and the Navigator keep me, no harm’ll come to Baatarsaikhan, Momolk or Xomni’to as long as I breathe. I’ll take a sword in me gut and shot in me face before anything touches them.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Idertuuya leaned back in her chair and sighed. “That’s...acceptable. Let me guess - you’ll be leavin’ tonight?”  
  
“We will be.” Arnar sighed. “I was figuring Baatar’d not told you, did she.”  
  
“She didn’t.”  
  
“Eewa-” Baatar stopped mid-sentence as Idertuuya pulled her into a hug.  
  
“-enough, please, little one. Just come here. I love you and you must promise me to be safe and to come home as often as you can, alright?”  
  
“...I will. I love you, mum.”  
  
“I love you too. And you two as well, you’ll not be leaving without the same warning,” Idertuuya said, yanking Xomni’to and Momolk into her embrace. “You watch your clan-mate’s back - Nhaama knows Baatar needs you two watching out for her. And you take care of yourselves; I love you both so dearly and there’ll be the hells to pay if any of you get hurt out there, alright?”  
  
“I love you too, auntie Idree,” Xomni’to said. “I promise to be safe.”  
  
“And I too,” Momolk added. “We’ll keep Baatar out of trouble.”  
  
Baatarsaikhan, Momolk and Xomni’to said their goodbyes to Terbish and Oyuunchimeg and joined Arnar outside of the tent several minutes later, and the four of them stood in silence by the waterside.  
  
“So? You three ‘an the crew of the Kweh at last, eh?” Arnar said slowly.  
  
“I recall somethin’ ‘bout carryin’ Poyi ‘round the ship. Did I do that?” Baatar asked, not taking her eyes off the churning waters of the sea.  
  
“Aye, y’did. Poor bastard’s dead now, though. Guess you’ll have to carry me instead.”  
  
“Give me a week to train and I’ll carry ye ‘round the ship like a toy, Arnar.”  
  
“Then we’d better start that week. Come on, you lot. Off we go.”  
  
They walked down the ruined streets towards a makeshift pier where a small schooner, maybe one-hundred-twenty yalms long, was docked; a handful of crew were at work upon its decks. A small plaque bore on the side of the ship bore the name Little Kweh, and soon enough the four of them were up the ramp and upon the ship.  
  
“So, I’ll assume none of ye know the ins of a ship?” Arnar asked as the crew - which numbered less than twenty - greeted them. “What do you folks know?”  
  
“Basic arcanistry for me’n Xomni’to,” Momolk said. “Baatar’s good at hitting things with an axe.”  
  
“So there’ll be trainin’ to do, eh? Well enough, then. Captain Pfarberk’s belowdecks - you remember him, Baatar?”  
  
“Aye, I do. Red-skinned, carries an axe? He’s Captain of the ship now?”  
  
“Nifsa died, bless the bastard’s soul, three years ago. Died of old age, though I’d wager the wining and the whoring mighta got t’im too. Anyways, you three’ll go speak with the cap and sort yerselves out. Meantime, we’re to make a run to Moraby - so get belowdecks.” Arnar watched the three teenagers scamper off towards the stairs with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and grinned.  
  
“Come on, lasses and lads! Weigh anchor and let’s make time! Off we go!”  
  


* * *

  


**Kugane, Hingashi**  
  
  
“So. You’ll finally be leaving, then?” Moriie said, smiling sadly as the Raen woman in front of him bowed deeply.  
  
“I shall, Captain Tsurugi. My visions - I have seen something...important, across the seas, and in these visions I am present. I can remain in Kugane no longer, and so I must humbly ask your permission to leave my duties as your assistant behind.”  
  
“There’s no need for you to apologize. The kami gave you your gift, and if the gods have called upon you to serve them, I cannot keep you here in good conscience,” Moriie replied, shrugging. “I will miss your help, of course, but most of all I shall miss you as a friend.”  
  
“And I as well, Captain. My time with the Sekiseigumi has been most excellent and I am loathe to leave, but as you say, one does not refuse the call of the kami.” Kanna bowed deeply once again, and smiled. “I hope to see you again soon.”  
  
“As do I. Be safe, Kanna.”  
  
Kanna left the barracks, nodding and saying her goodbyes to fellow soldiers as she went; she walked out of the officers’ barracks and down the street past the training yards and towards the small rows of apartments that her family lived in. Soon enough she was back in her own home, and she unlocked the door to find her father and mother waiting for her, seated at the living room tables.  
  
“Kanna,” her mother said sadly. “You are going through with this? You plan to journey all the way to Eorzea?”  
  
“I must, mother,” Kanna replied, kneeling before her parents. “My visions have never been wrong, and if the gods must have me in that far-away land, I shall go, even...even if I do not want to.”  
  
“Mmm. And why,” her father rumbled, “do you not wish to go? Especially if your visions have, as you say, placed you somewhere you must be?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“I...I do not know how long I must be gone for,” Kanna said, shaking her head.  
  
“So?”  
  
“I...I know your illness, it progresses slowly. And the healers say you likely have many years to live.”  
  
“And what, you worry that I shall pass while you are away? Hah!” Keisuke Minamoto barked a laugh and shrugged. “My little lilly, I have made my peace with my death. If it is my time to go, it is my time. Your being here or not will not change that.”  
  
“If I am not here, though, how will I know when you have passed? How will I give you my prayers, observe the rites, carry out-”  
  
“-please, Kanna. Do not worry about such things. I am one man amongst many - and your visions, they last spoke of a great fire that destroyed much, killed many more. You must not - you can not afford to look away from your destiny just because you fear that illness might take me.”  
  
“Listen to your father,” Reiko Minamoto added with a warm smile. “I shall be here to ensure his passing is in comfort, and knowing that you shall be thinking of us is enough to make us happy. You have always made us proud and served our name with honour. I know you will continue to do so in Eorzea, Kanna.”  
  
Tears began to stream from Kanna’s eyes, but she wiped them away and breathed deeply until she cried no more. “Yes. Yes, I know, I know.”  
  
“Then do not fear your destiny!” Keisuke shouted with fiery conviction. “If you must do a thing, do so proudly! Let the world know your name. You are Kanna. You are Minamoto. You shall not be cowed by a little thing like sorrow. Let none say, ever, that you did any less than take ahold of your future with strength and conviction.”  
  
“Y-yes. Yes, you are right, father. You are correct!” Kanna nodded, as much as to herself as to her parents. “Mother, father, I do not know when I return, or even if I shall. But I swear, upon my honour, that I shall uphold the honour of our family and our name.”  
  
“That is more like the Kanna I know,” Reiko said with a smile. “Wait here, my daughter; I have a gift for you.” The older Raen woman got to her feet and stepped into the kitchen behind her, returning moments later with a sheathed katana; the scabbard was wrapped in a white cloth, and a small lily-shaped emblem made of whitened metals hung from the bottom of the handle. She passed the blade to Kanna, who took it carefully with both hands, drawing the blade to reveal a blood-red blade with two characters - 赤月 - engraved by the hilt.  
  
“ _Akatsuki_. Red Moon. It is the red moon which has sent you to far away lands, and by the grace of this red moon you shall be returned home safely,” Reiko said with pride. “This blade is our blessing and your honour. This blade is our family and it is you. Wherever your visions take you,, however far afield you roam, your father and I shall always be with you.”  
  
“I...thank you, mother. I can not express how much this means to me,” Kanna said, sheathing the blade and placing it above her own blade on her belt. “Mother, father, I love you both so much and I will always be thinking of you.”  
  
She got up and embraced both of her parents for a long moment, before finally breaking the hug and stepping back.  
  
"We love you, always and forever, Kanna."  
  
She bowed, deeply, and nodded. “Goodbye, mother, father.”  
  
“Goodbye, Kanna.”


	5. SAIL

**PROLOGUE 4: SAIL  
  
30TH SUN OF THE FOURTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Rhotano Sea, just beyond the Moraby Drydocks**  
  
  
  
 _“A poor old man came riding by_  
And we say so and we know so  
Oh, a poor old man came riding by  
Oh poor old man  
  
Says I old man your chocobo’ll die  
And we say so and we know so  
And if he dies we'll tan his hide  
Oh poor old man  
  
And if he don't I'll ride him again  
And we say so and we know so  
And I'll ride him till the twelve knows when  
Oh poor old man  
  
He's dead as a nail in the lamp room door  
And we say so and we know so  
And he won't come worrying us no more  
Oh poor old man  
  
We'll use the hair of his tail to sew our sails  
And we say so and we know so  
And the iron of his shoes to make deck nails  
Oh poor old man  
  
Drop him down with a long long rope  
And we say so and we know so  
Where the sharks will have his body and the void takes his soul  
Oh poor old man.”  
  
  
“And this is the song that we shall sing, and a toast to new deckhands three,  
  
Nothin’ on land and everythin’ at sea, thirty suns and a sailor you’ll be!”  
  
  
“A toast to three new sailors for the Little Kweh! One glass’a rum for Momolk Molkoh, who learned the sails as fast as anyone ever has, and has about as much practice stitching us up as she does them! Down the hatch!”  
  
“A toast to two new sailors for the Little Kweh! One glass’a rum for Xomni’to Molkoh, who charts the seas like a master sailor, and whose Carbuncles are as good - nay, better than another set of crew! Down the hatch!”  
  
“A toast to a new sailor for the Little Kweh! One glass’a rum for Baatarsaikhan Kha, who has the strength of five men and the liver of a hundred! Down the hatch!”  
  
Baatar drained her third glass of rum and grinned as the deck erupted into wild, raucous cheering; Captain Pfarberk clapped the trio of newly-minted sailors upon the shoulders and took another swig out of the bottle of rum that was being passed around. “So, you lot, how’s it feel, eh? Thirty suns at sea?”  
  
“Feels right,” Baatar said, smiling. “Itching to get beyond the waters of Limsa, I’ll say.”  
  
“Patience,” Pfarberk replied with a smile. “Crew! Today’s a big day and not just because we’ve three new friends who call the Little Kweh home - today’s the day we strike out from the Rhotano and journey to the waters of the Sea of Ash! Boys and girls, we’re off to Horizon - we’re off to Ul’dah!”  
  
“Damn right we are,” Arnar shouted, as a cheer went up amongst the crew. “Gladiators and drinks in the jewel of the desert? How can we decline ye, cap?”  
  
“Always wanted ta visit,” Momolk agreed eagerly, bouncing slightly in her seat. “Can y’imagine the goods we’ll find in the markets there? And the Alchemists’s Guild! Rumour says they’ve walls from floor to ceiling of goods you’ll not find anywhere else.”  
  
“Piss, lass, you still tryin’ to work on that hangover-cure of yours?” Arnar said, shaking his head. “I’m tellin’ ye, it don’t work in the slightest. All it rightly does is oil yer guts out so everything comes up easier. What ‘bout you, Xomni?”  
  
“Mmm. Goldsmiths,” Xomni’to said quietly, not looking up from the page in his grimoire he was writing in. “I fancy the work they do, aye.” He paused, seeming to consider something, then nodded. “I hear the wine’s good, too.”  
  
“Pssh. Look at you two. Sailors proper and all you’ll be doin’ is more of the learned stuff,” Baatar said, shaking her head. “Come on, now! The bloodsands of Ul’dah call t’ye! Wine and liquors from all across Eorzea! And, they say, the finest men and women you’ve ever laid eyes upon!”  
  
“How’d you know the gladiator fights are still goin’, hmm?” Xomni’to interjected, glancing up from his page. “Limsa’s barely begun rebuilding.”  
  
“Well if you can’t get excited ‘bout the idea of things, there’s no fun to be had in life,” Baatar replied, scowling. “Come on, then, none of us have been beyond the lands of Limsa! How’s this not get the blood in yer veins a’goin?”  
  
“A little realism never hurt anyone,” Xomni’to countered flatly, returning to his book.  
  
“Ahhh, there’s more to life than ‘realism’ and the like,” Baatar replied with a sigh.  
  
“Alright! That’s enough boozing and merrymaking! Boys and girls we have a shipment of goods to be bringin’ to Ul’Dah - so stow the rum and get back to work!”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**2ND SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Sea of Ash, Vesper Bay**  
  
  
“Drop the anchor and hale up the brails!”  
  
“DROP ANCHOR, AN’ BRAIL UP!”  
  
“Aye aye!”  
  
The Little Kweh came to a halt just beyond the makeshift piers of Vesper Bay as it dropped its heavyset anchor and its crew began scrambling to roll the sails of the ship; Baatar followed Momolk and T'thoruma up the rigging and got to work hauling the sails into their stowed positions. In short order the work was done, and the three of them returned deckside, where several of the crew were busy carrying crates of various goods up from the belly of the ship.  
  
“Good, good! Arnar, drop the ramp,” Captain Pfarberk shouted, watching from the quarterdeck.  
  
“Dropping the ramp, captain! Winch is down, and here we go, ramp’s up in three, two, one!” Arnar and his assistants watched the ramp slide down from the ship to the pier, and cheered as it made contact. “Ul’dah ‘an the Little Kweh are docked together, Captain - you have the honours!”  
  
Pfarberk sauntered off the quarterdeck and walked over to the ramp; he descended it and grinned as he set foot on solid ground, where he was met by several dock officials. A few minutes later, they exchanged handshakes and several slips of paper, and Pfarberk returned to the ship. “Alright! Crew, get to work unloading those crates - we’ve got freight chocobos waiting for us over there,” he said, pointing at a small caravan at the end of the pier, “and little time to spare. Kokohuse, Xomni’to and I’ll be headed to Ul’dah first - we’ll be back before sundown, if all goes well. Rest of you are free to do as you like here - just make sure to watch the ship and keep some gil for later!”  
  
“Aww, shite, how come Xomni gets ta go with’ye?” T’thoruma groused, her red tail twitching.  
  
“Because he’s the best with figures, knows how to be respectful and doesn’t complain about his work. Now less complaining and more crate-moving! Arnar, you have command. Kokohuse, Xomni’to, with me.”  
  
“Right then,” Arnar said as he watched Pfarberk and his two assistants descend the ramp, “you know the drill! Crate-chain and start haulin’ crates! If you want rum, grog and a break in the city we’d best move quick-like!”  
  
Baatar and Momolk took their positions in the human chain which stretched from below decks all the way down the ramp and to the freight-chocobo carts which lay not far from the pier. The ship’s crew began moving crates from one person to another, with lalafells working closest to the ship’s storage hold and the roegadyn on the dock. They moved with practiced ease and quickly fell into an easy rhythm, kept in line by a song upon their lips.

  
  
_“K'lhofi was the fairest maiden_  
who had the joy to call Limsa home.  
Her tail and ears and hair were snow-white  
and her body was enough to make the hardest man croak.   
  
Hers was a man was a man by the name of Y'mehnu  
A sailor was he and a pirate too.  
One day he left for the seas with his pirate fellows  
and for years K'lhofi saw neither him or his crew.  
  
Until one day a mate of his came  
back to Limsa with a smile on 'is face.  
K'lfohi found him and held a knife to 'im  
and said she'd know of her lover's fate.  
  
"Why," the mate said with a smirk and a shrug  
"yer man's not dead or lost at sea.  
He found himself another lady  
And figured that happy with her he'd be."  
  
Three years later Y'hmenu was a-workin'  
on his own ship with his lass by his side.  
He had his crew and his booty and even new deckhands  
and one sunny day he'd make his new lass his bride.  
  
"Three cheers for the cap and the lady,"  
so said his crew with smiles all around -  
'til one of the new crew pulled two pistols  
And kicked the captain ‘an the bride to the ground.  
  
“Ten years I've been waitin' for this moment!”  
said K'lhofi as she cocked her guns.  
“Y'hmenu, you bastard, here's a gift for ye!  
and shot him and the bride twice each in the lungs.”  
  
So goes the story of K'lhofi the Dreaded  
the pirate queen who scares us all.  
She'll steal your heart and your booty  
and gun ye down if you think you'll steal her heart.” 

 

  
In short order the crates of food, medicine and firesand were packed up onto the freight convoy, and the crew of the Little Kweh returned to the ship to debrief. They sat on the main deck in a loose semi-circle around Arnar as the sun began to set.

“Right then, the captain’s not back yet,” Arnar said, rubbing at his bald head. “In any case, stay within the town’s limits - I hear the road from Vesper Bay up t’Horizon’s chock full’a nasty creatures and somesuch. Me, L'vapyo an’ Heavy Tortoise’ll stay with the boat. Don’t go gettin’ into shite, and try to stay sober-like, ‘case the cap comes back, alright?”

The crew shouted their understanding and returned to solid ground; Baatar stayed on the ship for a moment to get a better look at the town. Vesper Bay, as she’d been told, had been a bustling port of trade before the Calamity, housing no fewer than three dozen piers; it seemed more akin to a fishing hamlet now, with only four makeshift piers and the Little Kweh being the only boat of size docked at the town. Still, signs posted outside buildings denoted a tavern - easily the largest building in sight - and so Baatar caught up with the rest of the sailors and joined them as they made their way to the (apparently) sole drinking and eating establishment in town. The building itself was, like the others in town, made of well-worn sandstone, though in several places signs of repair were visible; the interior was a spacious, subdued space, holding maybe a two dozen patrons, all of whom were residents of the town or officials from the town of Horizon, which lay halfway between Ul’dah and Vesper Bay. Baatar’s entrance at the rear of the group drew stares and curiosity, but the patrons of the tavern raised no objection or question at her being there.

“Well now, look what the coeurl dragged in,” said the barkeep, an older, freckled lalafell woman with her hair tucked into a ponytail, as she noticed the crew entering. “You lot’ll be from Limsa?”

“Aye, barkeep, that’ll be so,” Momolk said from the front of the group as they took their seats at the bartop. “An ‘fore you ask, aye” - she pointed at her burnt side - “she fares about as well as we do.”

The barkeep shook her head and sighed. “Yes, we figured as much - your Admiral’n and Kan-E-Senna from Gridania came to Ul’dah a few suns ago, but they were gone as fast as they came, and us common folk’ve heard precious little save for the fact that nobody got outta this one clean. Figured it’d probably worse than we was told, too.”

“Bad, aye, but we’ll be rebuildin’ the city, same as everyone else,” Baatar offered.

“Well then, my name’s Momodi Modi, an-” The barkeep paused, having taken notice of Baatar’s horns and tail; she cocked her head, expression thoughtful. “My goodness. You’re an Au Ra, aren’t ya?”

“Aye,” Baatar replied, an eyebrow raised. “That’ll not be a problem, will’t?”

“Twelve, no! Just surprised. Your folk don’t show so often in Eorzea - in all my years I think I’ve only seen two, maybe three come through Ul’dah. Now what were their names - very un-Eorzean in sound - something like Hirotomo and Rokumi, if I recall right. They weren’t like you, though - their skin was fairer an’ their horns white. Carried these queer swords, too.”

“Raen,” Baatar said, scoffing. “Cream of the city-folk, likely.”

“Ah, so you’d not know of ‘em, then?”

“Never known a Raen in me life,” Baatar replied, shrugging. “My kin were - are - of the steppe. Nomads, most of us.”

“Shame. Here I was hopin’ you’d maybe know of their fates. Well enough, then,” Momodi said, turning to grab several glasses. “I’m afraid the selection’s not quite so fine these days.”

“Not a problem, neither am I,” Momolk grinned sardonically. “Nor the rest of us fine sailing folk.”

“Ha! ‘Aint that always the case. Well, I’ve plenty of ale, cool-beer, brandy and a lil’ bit of moonshine. Rum too, though I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ something different. As fer wine and mead, ah, I’m plum out. Lost me cellar to the shitestorm.”

“Cool-beer? The hells is that?” T'thoruma asked, frowning.

“Aye, t’was a newer thing some smart chap from the Brewer’s Guild came up with less than a half-year ago. Some merchant got ahold of some yeasts not from Eorzea and passed it ‘long to the brewfolk, and they came up with a sorta beer not quite like ale. They call’t cool-beer, since they put the drink into a big icebox for a week or more to make it.”

“Incredible,” Momolk said, eyes wide. “And this yeast, could a soul be buyin’ it from the markets in Ul’dah?”

“Aye, but it’ll cost you a chocobo’s weight in gil for it,” Momodi said, shaking her head. “There’s little to go ‘round, and with trade shot to the hells there’ll be precious little of it in Eorzea save for what the brewfolk could save.”

“Well, if that’s the case, we’d best be drinkin’ as much of the damn stuff as we can, no?” Striped Lily, one of the older sailors, said with a grin. “And, of course, as is custom, our youngest’ll be buyin’ the first round.”

“Not me,” Momolk said. “You’re the younger of us, Baatar.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. I’ll buy the next - now follow the custom,” Momolk said with a grin.

“This a custom, or a way to empty me coinpurse?” Baatar asked, scowling.

“Customary way to empty a sod’s coinpurse,” T’thoruma agreed, nodding. “Old as the sea herself.”

“Piss. Momodi, how much’ll a pint’a cold-beer be?” Baatar asked.

“Sixty gil a tankard, but for the five of ye I’ll do a six-pint-jug for two-hundred-fifty,” Momodi replied. Baatar frowned and stared at her fingers, muttering under her breath for several moments.

“Is that more or less than sixty by five?”

“Twelve, we’re not speakin’ arithmancy here,” Ototo Oto chastised. “Come on, Baatar, it’s simple figures.”

“Piss off! I can’t ken numbers and you know’t.”

“It’s less,” Momolk said, sighing. “Come on. Sixty and five is three-hundreds. Fifty and five is two-hundred-fifty.”

“Well enough that you’ll be doin’ the numbers, then,” Baatar shot back as she pulled her coinpurse out. She counted out a handful of coins, slid them over to Momodi and nodded. “A jug of cold-beer it’ll be, then.”

Momodi took the coins with a smile. “And a bargain it is, I might add. ‘Fore last month cold-beer were fifty gil a glass - now you’ll be hard-pressed to find a tavern in Ul’dah that’ll serve you one for less than seventy.”

“How’d you manage a feat like that?” Momolk asked.

“Connections, lass,” Momodi noted as she ducked out of sight and reappeared carrying a wooden jug easily as large as her head. “Rightfully I’ll be a part of the Adventurer’s Guild-”

“-like old man Baderon?” Baatar interjected. “D’ye know him? He works the Drowning Wench in Limsa.”

“Aye, I know Sir Tenfingers,” Momodi replied as she set the jug at an angle beneath one of the many casks which sat behind the counter. She turned the valve and smirked as light-coloured beer began filling the jug. “You might say I knew him better than his own ten fingers, aye,” she donned a massive grin that would have put most voidsent imps to shame.

“Aha! There it is,” Striped Lily said, as the sailors - minus Baatar - began roaring with laughter. “Asked him ‘bout who he fancies, I have, and never did I get a straight answer out of’im!”

“Excuse me,” Baatar gagged, mouth askew. “You mean to say you, if you’ll pardon my language, mounted ol’ Tenfingers and rode him dry?”

“Well that’s just an uncouth accusation,” Momodi replied, shrugging slightly. “Who’s to say what’s transpired ‘twixt his bedsheets?”

“Oh, gods. I’ll need a stiffer drink than your beers, with what image you’ve put in me mind,” Baatar bemoaned, miming a retch.

“What? You’ll be sayin’ that I’m not pretty, then?” Momodi needled with a grin as long as the bartop, as she checked the jug and set it straight as the cask continued to fill it. “Or Baderon, the rugged, handsome stallion that he is?”

“What - no - gods!”

“Oh, come now, that doesn’t get your blood a’pumpin’?” Momolk teased. “Ol’ Baderon  _pumpin'n'gruntin'_ away-”

“Please, Navigator preserve me, stop.” Baatar’s forehead knocked a hefty dent into the bartop as she tried - and to her great misery, failed - to banish the image from her mind.

“Well, with that wondrous - and let me tell you, indeed it was wondrous - memory for ye, here’s your drinks,” Momodi said with a smile as she pushed the jug and five tankards towards the sailors.

 

* * *

 

**3RD SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Vesper Bay**

 

“WAKE UP, YOU SCUM-SUCKING SHITEBIRDS!”

Baatar yelped as a torrent of ice-cold seawater washed over her and winced as she suppressed the terrible urge to vomit all over herself.

Then she realized that she wasn’t laying on her cot aboard the Little Kweh; she frantically scrambled to her feet, and found that she - and the other crew who had gone to the unnamed tavern in town the night prior - were all in various states of disarray upon the main deck of the ship. The sun was rising, the air smelled faintly of salt and there was a very, very angry red-skinned roegadyn standing in front of a wall of buckets filled with water not an ilm away.

“OH! AWAKE, ARE YE? How nice of you t’be the first to awaken on this fine, sunny morning! Well met and how-do-ye-do, Baatarsaikhan Kha!” shouted Captain Pfarberk in a tone she’d grown to fear.

“Oh, shite. Uh, right, cap’n, uh, thanks for wakin’ me- euch!” Baatar recoiled as Momolk, who was still laid out upon the deck, violently threw up all over her boots. She sighed, and looked back at Pfarberk, behind whom stood the rest of the crew - all of whom had ill-concealed grins upon their faces.

“Gods damnit, why’s the ground so wet?” Momolk groaned, stumbling to her feet as Pfarberk emptied another bucket of water over the hungover sailors. “Gah-SHITE!”

“WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP! Back in my day you’d get a floggin’ for this shite! Up! Up, damn you!”

Two minutes and two-dozen buckets of water later, all of the waylaid sailors were on their feet, drenched in seawater and more vomit than Baatar was comfortable with.

“SO! As I hears it, Commander Arnar, who’ll be the Captain of the Little Kweh when I’m gone, gave you louts the word to be ‘sober-like,’ in case I returned. And, delayed as I am, what do I come back to this here hamlet but to find all five of ye, fucked to the wind on the floor of Miss Momodi’s fine drinking establishment? Now, I’m no scholar, let alone a learned man, Master Molkoh,” Pfarberk said, glancing at Xomni’to, “but by my count when the Captain says ‘sober-like’ and he finds you hurlin’ yer guts out, well, you’ve gone and broke the rules, haven’t ye?”

“Aye, Captain, that’ll be the truth of it,” Xomni’to confirmed with a solemn nod.

“Bilgerat piece of shite trai-AGH! Alright, I get the message!” Momolk yelped as another bucket was dumped on her.

“Right then! So we’re agreed that you five have disobeyed me direct orders. And, pray tell, d’ye know why Commander Arnar said to you lot to not be drunk the evening prior?”

Pfarberk was met by a chorus of groans and sighs, and his answer came at an ever louder tone than before. “It’s because, you shite-pots, I’d booked rooms for us all in Ul’dah! Room and board and a hot meal! Space enough for the lot of us, and look at ye! I wasted me gil on you lot! Willing, I was before, to pay the gil y’owed. Not so anymore! All five of ye’re on docked pay ‘til you make that coin back! Is that understood?”

A weak rounds of “aye”s came back, and Pfarberk shook his head.

“I said, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” the group responded.

“Twelve preserve me. Come on, we’re Limsans, not dirtbag deckhands from Gridania.” He sighed, and his expression softened. “Look, I’ll not deny any of ye the right to a good night’s drinkin’ - I love me a bottle’a’rum as much as any of ye. I’s going soft on ye, y’hear? When we pull in’ta port and I says not to drink too much, there’ll be a reason for’t, alright?”

“Aye, Captain,” came the weary reply.

“Fair enough. Lesson learn-ed, I hope. Now get yerselves cleaned up and squared away - I’ve hired some goodly locals on the recommendation of Miss Momodi to watch the ship, such that all of us can be gettin’ to enjoy a bit of Ul’dah while me’n Arnar work out some dealin’ for cargo. You’ve got just under a bell before our transportation leaves, y’hear? Go on, get t’it! Everyone else, with me - you lot can find us by the easterly gates when you’re squared away.”

“Llymlaen’s busty bosom,” Striped Lily said, stifling a belch as the five female sailors watched Pfarberk and the others leave. “The seven hells we get into last night? Any’f ye recall? I forgot right ‘round the time we convinced that young lad to take’is shirt off.”

“Hard t’say,” Baatar replied, fishing around in her pockets. “Alls I know is, I had eight-hundred gil in me coinpurse the night last, and right now-” she paused to look inside the now much smaller bag “-I’ve got, ah, thirty.”

“Damnation. I think I might’ve asked Momodi t’break out the moonshine she says she kept in the back for celebratin’ weddings, births and ‘whenever a Manderville decides to get plastered’, whatever the hells that means...” Momolk groaned as she clutched her head and stomach in equal parts agony. “Shite. Did I hurl on yer boots, Baatar?”

“Y’did.”

“Ugh. Sorry.”

“Look on the bright side.”

“I feel like Titan himself is stompin’ around in me skull, what possible bright side could there be?”

“Ye have the chance to test yer foul concoctions on yerself.”

“Drown, horn-head.”

“Well,” T’thoruma said, scowling as she looked down at her drenched clothes. “Aren’t we a sorry lot.”

“A night fer the ladies. Well worth a tongue-lashin’ and a bit of coin lost, I’d wager,” Striped Lily said with a shrug. “Come on, let’s go get proper as t’not upset our irate cap’n.”

Baatar and the others went belowdeck and made their way over to the crew quarters; they stripped out of their clothes, tossing them into the washbasket the female sailors shared, before changing into fresh, dry clothing. A few minutes later they left the ship and made their way to the eastern gate of Vesper Bay; the remaining crew of the Little Kweh was waiting for them, loaded into a two-chocobo carriage. Momodi was there as well, standing alongside a half-dozen people of mixed races, each carrying a weapon of some sort and smartly dressed in leather armours.

“Oho, my favourite lasses awake!” Momodi shouted, waving at the women and taking a somewhat sadistic pleasure in the way they all winced as one. “Y’know, I must thank you lot for the business last night - not only did you girls fill my coffers with plenty’a gil, you even convinced some of the locals to put on a bit of a show last night!”

“Oh, gods. Please say I didn’t do more than get the shirts off the one lad,” Striped Lily said with pained look on her face.

One of the guards - a well-built and richly-tanned hyur - pointedly looked away, his skin turning a fiery shade of red.

“Mine lips are sealed,” Momodi said, her face the picture of innocence. “No well-to-do lady speaks ill of her customers, no matter the coin! It’s a professional barkeep’s code.”

“Just get’n the dammned cart,” Pfarberk said with a smarmy grin. “Lest Miss Momodi here spend the rest of the sun making you ladies look like fools. And, of course, my thanks for the help on such short notice, Momodi.”

“A pleasure to help you, Captain,” Momodi replied with a small curtsy. “You’ve my word that nary a soul besides those suchly-authorized shall touch your ship while these adventurers are on the job!”

“Rightly so,” one of the guards, a mustachioed lalafell with a sword easily double his height strapped to his back. “Coin for sittin’ on a fine ship, snacking and enjoyin’ the weather? Damn right we’ll keep a keen eye on your holdings, Captain Pfarberk.”

“In your capable hands, then, I leave the Little Kweh,” Pfarberk said with a nod as Baatar and the other stragglers clambered into the cart. “Good day to ye, Momodi!”

“And a good day to all of you. Enjoy your time in Ul’dah!”

“Aaah, a fine day for a ride. Edgar’s mine name and I’ll hope you’ll be enjoyin’ the ride as I do,” said the cart’s hyuran driver as they set off into a sloped tunnel beyond the gates. “First time for all of you’s in Ul’dah?” He leaned back to glance at the passenger compartment, and grinned as most of the sailors - Arnar, Pfarberk and Striped Lily being the exceptions - raised their hands. “You’re in for a treat, you lot are. Hardly a moon since the Calamity, and, why, in some parts you’d not know Ul’dah had suffered in the slightest!”

“Really?” Momolk asked, rubbing at her eyes. “How’s it so? None’ve us’ve been back to Limsa since she was hit, aye, but I can’t rightly imagine she’s rebuilt so fast.”

“Ha! Miss, if Limsa’s got sailors and saltwater to spare, Ul’dah has coin and men a-workin’,” Edgar said with a laugh. “Aye, we lost much to the nastiness of things, but I’ll wager all this rebuildin’ means plenty-a-gil passin’ hands.”

“Right. A hundred gil passes hands. Ninety coins to the business-owner, nine coins to the overseer and one to the worker, I wager,” Xomni’to analyzed dryly, hissing as Arnar elbowed him in the ribs.

“Aye, you might have the right of it,” Edgar admitted with a shake of his head. “Other folk’re quick to paint all Ul’dahn’s as folk who’ll be selling their grandmothers for gil, and maybe there’s some truth to that. But you’d be best served by not paintin’ all us folk like that,” Edgar offered. “Just the same I don’t say that all Limsans are cutthroats and purse-stealers, you ken?”

“Sorry,” Xomni’to rolled his eyes with a huff as he rubbed his side. “Didn’t mean harm by it.”

“None taken - a cart driver like me’s got nothin’ against the truth of things. Still, I’d be careful ‘bout speaking words like that in the city proper - some of those Ul’dah’n folk, the loaded ones who’ll indeed be thinking of gil and nothing else, they’ll sooner have you thrashed and thrown from the city than take those words lying down.”

“Point taken,” Xomni’to sighed, nodding to himself in defeat. “I’ll watch my tongue.”

“See that ye do,” Pfarberk muttered, prodding the miqo’te in the sides.

Baatar did her best not to laugh - and, despite her attempts to remain cool, could not help but gasp in delight as the cart cleared the ascending tunnel and deposited them into what looked like a roofless cave; spires of rock jutted out of the ground, connecting overhead as though someone had reached down and poked holes in the the top of a mountain. Water from cave-bound streams roared as it flowed towards the waters beyond Vesper Bay, and all along the makeshift stone road which cut through sat fishers with their lines cast.

“Aye, beautiful, ‘aint it?” Edgar said, his tone at once content and full of sorrow. “The Footfalls, they’re called. Bedtime story for the young’uns says giants once walked through here, made the holes you see. Truth be told, a moon ago there weren’t half the number of holes towards the sky. Damned dragon-scourge made those.”

“Still, though, ‘tis a sight to be seen. And those,” Baatar said, pointing at a section of ruined masonry, which despite their obvious age and poor condition still bore intricate markings. “What’ll those be?”

“Rightly, I don’t know. Always been there, to be honest,” Edgar said with a shrug. “You’ll need to be askin’ the scholars in town about it. Or you could go with the folklore - the giants dropped their bits and bobs as they went.”

The cart weaved its way through the makeshift road, and soon enough passed into and up another tunnel; they emerged not long after into a bustling waystation, full of merchants and construction workers. There were even a handful of skilled artisans weaving aether and crystal together, repairing what must once have been the stop’s own aetheryte.

“Horizon,” Edgar said as the cart made its way through the pedestrian traffic. “We’ll not be stopping here today - it’s another bell or so to Ul’dah!”

The cart cleared Horizon and Baatar was at a loss for words as she saw, for the first time, the desert. She’d been to the beaches of Costa del Sol before, but this was altogether different; queer-shaped trees and patches of grass dotted the dry sands, and off in the distance Baatar spied animals nothing like anything she’d seen before. They crossed over a long bridge manned by armed guards over a massive quarry where at least two or three score of miners hacked away at the rock beneath, flanked by workers overseeing a pair of skylifts and constructing more.

Maybe forty minutes ride out of Horizon, the cart came to a halt in front of a massive waystation, with dozens of plate-mailed swordsmen and archers manning the wooden fortifications. Edgar waved at one of the men up top, and the gate barring entry to his cart raised a few seconds later; a sign hung just beyond the entrance, reading ‘Welcome to Scorpion Crossing. Have your goods and all applicable permits available for inspection.’ The cart pulled off to the side of the stop in a small area demarcated with blackened paints, next to several other carts; a lalafell in heavy plate with sword sheathed and a notebook in hand stomped over to the cart and hailed Edgar.

“Edgar, good man, you’ve got passengers today? No cargo?” the lalafell said, nodding as Edgar hopped off the cart and fished a set of papers out of the pockets of his tunic.

“Aye, Nonoqoge, that’s the truth of it. Visitors all the way from Limsa.”

“Well enough, then,” the lalafell said, eying Baatar and the other passengers in the back of the carriage. “You lot, have you any goods to declare?”

“No, Ser Nonoqoge,” Pfarberk answered, leaning out of the cart. “I actually passed through ‘ere the night last - all me cargo’s already in the city.”

“That so? And none of you’ll have crystals, drugs, or firesand upon you?”

“No, sir, none of me sailors carry such upon them.”

“Not even pistols?” Nonoqoge pressed.

“No sawn-blunderbuss, no pistols, no cut-muskets. We’ve left our weapons, what little that we have, upon our ship,” Pfarberk replied calmly. “We’ll be enjoyin’ the city, nothin’ else.”

Nonoqoge made a show of flipping through his notebook for several moments, before handing Edgar’s papers back and jerking a hand towards the gates and the stone stairs beyond. “Right, then, go on ahead. Cause no trouble and you’ll find yourselves in good company.”

“Well, then, thanks be for the ride,” Pfarberk said to Edgar as the sailors hopped off the cart. “We’ll rightly make our way from here, Edgar - if we wished to call upon y’again, how’ll we be lettin’ ye know?”

“Ah, you can speak with Inana Ina - she’ll be the proprietor of the Quicksand. You’re familiar?”

“Aye, we’re stayin’ there. All goes well, we’ll be needin’ yer cart and chocobos again in a few suns. Thanks again,” Pfarberk said.

“The pleasure was mine,” Edgar replied with a small bow. “Be seeing you.”

Baatar followed Pfarberk and the others up to the stone steps - which, she noted, were as immaculate as anything could be with all the sand flying about - that led up to Ul’dah’s gates.

“That’ll be some fine masonry,” Momolk said, impressed. “There’ll be a story behind this’n?”

“Aye,” Xomni’to replied as the group ascended the steps. “Ah, ‘The Eighty Sins of Sasamo,’ they’re called. So named for a second-born of the Sultanate some two-hundred years ago, who raised a hand against the rightful heir. For her treason she walked these eighty steps, eighty times, for eighty days - and on the last day, she fell dead.”

“Posh tosspot,” Ototo said with a snort. “Coddled and fat, I’ll bet that Sasamo was. A goodly lalafell of sailor’s stock could do double without trouble, I’d wager.”

“Just a story,” Arnar noted. “I’ll bet you Sasamo had t’do it without food or summat. Does the story say ‘bout that?”

Xomni’to shrugged. “Didn’t read the full story, and what with the Sultanate being in charge I’d wager the full story’s long been, ah, forgotten, if you catch my meaning.”

“Good lad,” Pfarberk said, humming with approval. “Riddles and tongues, lest we be thrown out. Let’s not go shitting in the sultana’s oats, please.”

 

  
The sailors walked the Eighty Sins and found themselves standing before a massive sandstone gate, intricately engraved and immaculately kept; a dozen or so guards clad in hauberks and plate, dyed red and trimmed with bronze, stood watch, while several more scrubbed the engravings clean with buckets of water and oils. They watched the sailors pass in silent interest; Baatar noticed them eyeing her warily, but she too was let through without incident.

The group stopped just beyond the gate.

“Fuck me with a rusty rake,” Baatar breathed, her mouth wide open. “Would ye look’t this place? Standin’ here, I could ken the Calamity ne’er happened.”

“Jewel o’ the desert, my arse. Like a dragon’s treasure hoard, more like,” Momolk whistled, nodding in awe.

Baatar had read about Ul’dah, heard about it, even seen paintings. None of them did what she was seeing now any sort of justice; she and the others were standing upon a curving avenue, on which stood more shops than the entirety contained within Hawkers’ Alley back home. Tapestries and banners flew from shops of all sorts and sizes, and the windows of apartments and offices overlooked the street itself from up high into the stone buildings above. Swarms of pedestrians and carts made their way through the packed streets, all moving to meet their own busy schedules.

Baatar did her best to ignore the fact that the sailors were being ignored, while she was the focus of more than a few stares - not all of them kind.

“So! Welcome to Ul’dah,” Captain Pfarberk said with a grin. “Quite summat, innit? Our firs’ stop’s the city’s own ‘ryte - we’ll get you lot attune-ed quick-like.”

“What? They’ve got their ‘ryte up and running already?” Momolk asked, dumbfounded. “It’s barely been more’n a single moon! How’s that work?”

“Throw enough gil at a problem,” Xomni’to said with a look Baatar thought resembled distaste, “and you can fix anything as fast as you want, aye.”

“Hey, lad, if it works, it works,” Arnar offered. “Mountain o’ gil or otherwise, theirs is up ‘fore anyone else fixed their own.”

The city’s aetheryte was tucked away into a massive alcove only a minute’s walk away; the telltale woosh-pops of people teleporting in and out of the area echoed through the cavernous hall, and travelers - all of them looking more than well-to-do - lined up at the various toll booths leading in and out of the aetheryte station. The sailors made their way to a separate line on the far right side of the entrance, where a heavyset lalafell in a richly-decorated uniform sat at station without a line; the plaque sitting atop his station read ‘Attunements Only.’

“Ah, Captain Pfarberk, you return with your sailors,” the lalafell said, waving a pudgy hand at Pfarberk. “Come to have them attuned?”

“Aye, that’ll be so, Nenetupe.”

“Well, go on ahead,” Nenetupe said, pulling a lever on his workstation; the small metal gate by the lalafell’s workstation opened to allow passage into the aetheryte station. Baatar followed the others and stepped up to the aetheryte; she and the rest of the sailors, save for Pfarberk, Arnar and Striped Lily, held out their hands and let their anima flow out to the crystal which towered above them. Soon enough their attunement was complete, and the group made its way back out into the streets.

“Now,” Pfarberk said, pulling the group aside, “the Quicksand is where we’ll be stayin’ for the next few suns. Walk yerselves down that way for five or so minutes and you won’t be missin’ it - if you can’t find it, don’t bother comin’ back to the ship. Arnar’n I’ll be meetin’ with a buncha folks with goods to move and gil to give - and this time, when I says to be staying sober - not sober-like, sober - for th’evening I damn well hope you’ll lissen t’me.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Baatar said. “So? How’ll we know you’ll be comin’ back to the tavern?”

“You won’t,” Arnar said with a shrug. “Still, we’ll not be stayin’ the night wherever we end up doin’ the negotiating. Just don’t go spendin’ the night in a gutter and things’ll sort themselves rightly.”

“Heh, what ‘bout the floor of the Quicksand?” Striped Lily asked with a smirk.

“Lily, if you find yourself ejected from the Quicksand I’ll be sendin’ you back to the boat,” Arnar said crossly. “Twelve above, I’m not saying you can’t be touchin’ the drink. Just don’t go makin’ a fool of yerself. Again.”

“Right, right, so it is,” Striped Lily replied with a shrug as Arnar and Pfarberk took off. “So? What’s the deal? Are we goin’ to check to th’inn first?”

“Aye,” Xomni’to said, nodding. “Best we get ourselves sorted before heading out to see the city, I think.”

The Quicksand was indeed only a few minutes walk away; besides an aetheryte shard outside the two sets of doors and a wooden sign bearing an engraving of a tankard, there was nothing that differentiated the tavern from any other building nearby. The group entered to find a large, spacious drinking hall, sparsely populated with a smattering of people of all races and sorts; the patrons looked at the sailors with indifference and Baatar with just enough curiosity to make her uncomfortable. The proprietress - a young lalafellian woman with a head of long, blonde hair - waved at the sailors from behind the bar, and the group walked over.

“You’ll be the sailors from Limsa, yes?” the woman said, smiling.

“Aye, that’ll be so,” Momolk replied. “How’d you know?”

“Ah, Miss Momodi pearled ahead t’let me know.”

“You’ll be Inana Ina? You run the Quicksand?” Xomni’to clarified.

“Ehe, truthfully that’s a bit of a stretch,” Inana replied, slightly embarassed. “Miss Momodi’s the one who rightly owns the place - she’s down in Vesper to get away from the city, honestly.”

“Is that not public knowledge?” Xomni’to replied, his expression inquisitive.

“Yes? No? I don’t rightly know,” the bartender shrugged helplessly. “She never said to not tell anybody, but neither did she advertise her whereabouts. Said she was tired of suitors askin’ for her, what with the rebuildin’ and the busywork since the Calamity.”

The sailors looked at one another.

“Uh, m’apologies if this is, ah, uncouth-like,” Baatar asked slowly, “but Miss Momodi, does she, uh, get around? A lot? If you catch my meaning?”

“Ma’am,” Inana said, eying Baatar’s horns and tail with interest, “I do my absolute best to tune out any and all salacious rumours regarding my boss. Frankly I’ll have no interest in knowing what the woman who pays my wages does in the privacy of her own home.” Inana shuddered, and gagged slightly. “Also, y’know, she’s old enough to be me mum. And that’s disgusting t’think about. So!” The sailors all jumped when she suddenly slammed her hands together with a louder clap than any lalafell had any right to produce. “Rather than dwell on that horrid, absolutely unspeakable line of questioning, I’m aware you’ve four rooms to be checking into?”

“That’s so,” Striped Lily replied. “Will we be needin’ papers or the like?”

“No need, no need. Miss Momodi said there’d be a bunch of salty-looking sailors with an au ra amongst them,” Inana explained, nodding at Baatar, “and I’d wager that’s not exactly a common combination in Ul’dah now, or ever.” She pulled a keyring from her pockets, turned around and opened one of the dozens of drawers on the shelf behind her, taking out a small bag which clinked as she turned back to the sailors, her expression sober. “Now, your cap’n’s put down a deposit on the rooms. The Quicksand’s staff will clean your room an’ your sheets, but if you break anything you’ll be paying for it. And don’t lose your keys - every room that has a key lost, that’s six hundred gil to re-key the locks and another seventy-five to replace the key. Clear?”

“As rain,” T’thoruma said.

“Right. Otherwise the rules’ll be simple: no fighting, no whoring, and keep it down after midnight. Your rooms are on the fourth floor - the keys’ll have the numbers on’em.”

Baatar ended up rooming with Momolk, Striped Lily and T’thoruma; by the time Baatar had thoroughly inspected and tested the soft bed she and T’thoruma would be sharing and spent a solid five minutes goggle-eyed over all of the various soaps and oils in the bathroom, the wall-mounted chronometer (which, Baatar noted, was bolted down with heavy rivets) showed that it was nearly thirty-past-two. Eager to explore, Baatar returned to the tavern’s main floor and sidled up to the bar, Momolk and Xomni’to in tow.

“So, Inana, y’happen t’have a map?” Baatar asked.

“Indeed I do,” the barkeep replied, ducking beneath the counter and returning a moment later with a rolled piece of parchment. Inana unrolled it, revealing an intricate diagram of the city, complete with the locations of all of the major guilds and even a series of markers explaining how much each neighbourhood of the city had managed to recover from the Calamity, accurate to the week prior. The three of them whistled in surprise at the detail and artistry of the map; even Baatar, who was no artist, let alone a cartographer, could see the amount of work that went into its design.

“Gods damn, there’s a map as fine as I’ve ever seen,” Baatar said, shaking her head. “How much’ll one of these things be costin’ t’own?”

“One gil,” Inana said simply.

“One.” Xomni’to shook his head in abject disbelief. “This - this thing is damn near a masterpiece of cartographic skill, and it costs a single gil?”

Inana rolled her eyes. “Yes, on one condition. If you pay for this map, I’m obligated to say the following.” She puffed out her chest and adopted a mocking, sing-song tone. “Thank you for your purchase of this map of Ul’dah, accurate to the past week. This document has been produced by artisans under the banner of the East Aldenard Trading Company, and is being sold at a loss by the order of Lord Lolorito Nanarito, who, in his charity, has decided that in this time of great change and upheaval, we Ul’dahn’ns must work together to restore our fine city to the shining jewel that she was with all speed.” Her speech complete, Inana spit into a well-shined pot on the bartop and mimed vomiting. “Forgive me for that, but I’d been handing these things out without the speech until a few suns ago when some bastard working for Loloshitto, bless his soul, caught me doing so. Man threatened to take the maps away, so here I am.”

“A small price to pay for helping some goodly travelers,” Xomni’to groused with obvious distaste.

“But y’have t’admit,” Momolk breathed, gaze unfocused and her tone thoughtful, “that’s a fine way to do some advertisin’ indeed. Could be better, though. Map’s not got the name of ‘is company on’t - if the sod’s sellin’ these things for a one-gil anyhows, why not plaster ‘is name all oe’er the damn thing?”

Inana cocked an eyebrow at the fellow Dunesfolk. “You sure you’re from Limsa, lass? ‘Cause that sorta scheme is something I’ve only ever heard from someone born in the sweet sands of Thanalan.”

“I could very well be. Never knew me ma or pa, Limsa’s just the earliest place I ‘member growin’ up,” Momolk replied with a shrug.

“Well, I say you’d make a fine Ul’dahn,” Inana said with a smirk.

“Betterin’ aside, though, I’ll admit the ploy’s worked. Now I’ve an interest in what this Lolorito does own’n the city,” Momolk admitted.

“Ha! You’d be better asking what Lolorito and his gil-farm enterprises don’t own in Ul’dah,” Inana said crossly. “Nothing’s wrong with aiming for gil, but there’s a man who’d sooner sell his own nuts for coin than lose out on a chance to profit.”

“Does he own the bloodsands? And speakin’ of, actually,” Baatar interjected, “are those fights still a-goin’?”

“Goodly sir Lolorito doesn’t actually own the bloodsands, no, though I’m sure he’s got his fat, wretched fingers in’em somehow anyhow. But they’re open, yes,” Inana said, nodding. “Bunch’a rich folk pooled their gil together and fixed the coliseum up - that thing went from ruin to being better than fixed in a week and two suns. Ul’dah’s not Ul’dah without the bloodsands, for good or for ill.”

“Well, you lot can piss ‘round the guilds and books and shite, then,” Baatar said happily, clapping Xomni’to and Momolk on the shoulders. She pulled a single-gil coin from her pockets and slid it over to Inana before snatching the map from the table. “I’ve a holiday t’enjoy!”

“Don’t let us keep you from your plebian pursuits,” Xomni’to scoffed.

“The fuck’s a ple-bee-an?” Baatar replied, frowning.

“Someone who’s got shite taste’n hobbies,” Momolk explained, her tone half dry and half amused. “Like you!”

“Oh, go fuck a stick, will ye?”

“Thank you, no. Unlike a certain someone, I don’t look like I’d start a chant of ‘the power of Halone compels you!’ were I t’so much as stick a foot int’Ishgard, so I’m not quite as desperate," Momolk said as though she were educating a child. "Also, aren’t you the one who put t’haft of yer axe right up ye?”

Inana chuckled as Baatar sputtered incoherently, and grinned at Momolk. “Y’sure you’re not a born-and-bred Ul’dahn? A tongue like yours, Miss Molkoh, you’d fit right into the hustlers at the markets.”

“Oi, oi! Don’t ye go complimentin’ her! And you, Momo, YOU LEAVE AXEY OUTTA’ THIS!”

“Y’know,” Striped Lily said, pulling up a seat next to Baatar, “when most folk’re confronted with a sting like this’n, they’ll rightly say somesuch like ‘that never happened,’ or ‘’twas only the once,’ or the like.”

“Well ‘twas only the once and I was drunk off me arse,” Baatar shot back. “Plus I made damn near a thousand gil for doin’ it.”

“Ahh, of course. A minute of pleasure, a thousand gil and what little dignity you had thrown to the winds. What a shame,” Xomni’to said in mock sorrow.

“Ah, fuck all’ye. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve an appointment with muscled men in tight-fittin’ subligars beatin’ the tar outta one another t’keep,” Baatar shouted, storming out of the tavern.

Half laughing and half fuming, Baatar began making her way back down the street towards the Coliseum, which the map marked as being a little ways beyond the aetheryte station; she was so incensed that she barely noticed the stares from passers-by as she grumbled to herself during her journey there. She actually walked past the ticketing station for the Coliseum and failed to notice as such until she found herself at a dead end, looking up at a massive temple to Nald’Thal; several black-robed mages walked to and from the entrance, paying Baatar absolutely no attention.

Sighing, Baatar figured she might as well attune herself to the aetheryte shard out front, and doubled back to the ticketing station; there was a small line of customers, and Baatar settled in for a long wait. To her surprise, the line moved briskly, and Baatar soon found herself in front of a mustachioed elezen man with a spiked head of hair.

“Well, well! An Au Ra, come all the way to Ul’dah? Ma’am, it is an honour to be serving you this fine day,” the man said with a small bow.

“Uh. Sure? Just here to buy a ticket,” Baatar said, rubbing her horns. “First time in Ul’dah, aye, an’ I’s wanted to see the bloodsands e’er since I heard of’t as a lil’ girl.”

“Ah, of course, of cour - I’m sorry, I must say, you don’t speak as I expected,” the man said with a slight frown.

“You wot?”

“Well, ma’am, you speak clear as the sun with a, ah, fine Lominsan accent.”

“Aye,” Baatar replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I do consider myself a reader of fine texts, and, ah, of the Au Ra I’ve not read that they speak Eorzean common with such, ahem, aplomb, let alone Lominsan.”

“Raised in Limsa since I was four years of age, I was,” Baatar replied flatly. “You don’t hear me askin’ what an Elezen’s doin’ out here in the desert, do ye?”

The man said nothing and, after a moment of silence, cleared his throat, his tone abruptly shifting to practiced bravado. “Right then! Ah, well, as you’ll see behind me on that plaque, there’s plenty of pricing available to suit any number of coin you have on hand.

Baatar squinted at the list of prices behind the man.  
 _  
_  


_Come one, come all to the famed Coliseum of Ul’dah!_

_**Prices are non-negotiable.**_

  


 _One Admittance: 30 minutes, or 5 Fights (whichever comes about first.) 150 gil._

_Two Admittances: 1 Bell, or 10 Fights (whichever comes about first.) 280 gil._

_Four Admittances: 2 Bells, or 20 Fights (same as above.) 500 gil._

_Quarter-Sun Pass: Six hours of entry & access to superior seating. 1200 gil._

_Half-Sun Pass: Twelve hours of entry & access to superior seating. 1800 gil._

  


_Sun Pass (BEST DEAL!): One sun’s worth of fights! Front-row seats guaranteed! 2400 gil! Limited quantities per day!  
_

_For long-term passes, please inquire within.  
_

  
“I’ll be takin’ two admittances, please,” Baatar said as politely as she could, counting and handing over a small stack of coins.

“Of course, ma’am.” The Elezen took the gil, counted it, and slid the coins into a small hole in his workstation; they rattled and clinked as they fell to the gods-knew-where. In short order the vendor took a long, narrow piece of parchment, stamped it with one of the many kept at his desk, and slid it over to Baatar. “Enjoy,” he said, jerking a hand at the entrance behind him.

“And a good day t’ye,” Baatar said, taking her leave. “Ye fuckin’ bawbag,” she added once she was sure she was out of earshot. The corridor winded in a spiral fashion, down into the heart of Ul’dah itself; as she descended the sounds of cheers and roaring crowds could be heard, and the anger in her head was slowly replaced by anticipation. Soon enough the corridor ended and deposited her into a long, straight hallway filled with folk coming and going, guarded by what looked like gladiators manning posts overlooking the hallway. At the very end stood a series of turnstiles, over which hung a golden plaque, thusly engraved:  
 __

_UPON THE BLOODSANDS_

_ALL MEN ARE MADE EQUAL_

 

A flash of her ticket granted her entrance into the Coliseum itself - an arena so massive and so sumptuously decorated Baatar could not believe that the Calamity had so much as scratched the place. A grand arena of sand was encircled by the seats of the Coliseum; even now, at mid-day, the venue was packed with folk from seemingly every walk of life.

Baatar spied an empty set of seats far above the entrance, and she made her way up the stairs to them; nobody paid her or her horns or her tail any mind, focusing instead on the current combatants - six roegadyn against six, all of them wearing nothing more than subligars and all wielding long-staves. By the time Baatar settled into her seat, the fight was more or less over, and the arena echoed with shouts, jeers, cheers and booing as the gladiators were whisked out of sight into tunnels built into the sides of the arena. Not a second later a shirtless lalafell stood in a box next to the arena and began to speak; his voice was carried throughout the arena by what looked like hundreds of cones embedded with rows of linkpearls.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, LALAFELL AND ROEGADYN! Next up we have a reaaaaaaal treat -it’s the Mountain-Blade himself - a rare day indeed to see our favourite gladiator-turned-sellsword back in the ring again - please, roar as loud as you can for Lyyyyynnnngdooooorrrrnnn Ahldthubrysyn!”

The arena erupted into wild, rapturous cheering as a heavily-built and heavily-scarred roegadyn with a shaved head stepped into the arena, clad in a dark blue sleveless coat, hempen pants, mail gloves and leather boots; he carried a gleaming arming sword and a well-worn and heavily dented metal shield. Lyngdorn raised his arms and weapons, roaring a battle-cry, and the crowd roared back.

“Aaaaaaaaaand facing Lyngdorn today we have not ten, not eleven but ONE! DOZEN! CHALLENGERS! Let’s give it up for the Dozen! Deadly! Diremiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiites!”

The cheering was far less raucous this time as twelve men, ten hyuran and two miqo’te in purple leathers stepped into the arena, each carrying an axe of some sort; they too shouted a battle-cry Baatar couldn’t hear over the noise of the arena, and several of them made rude gestures at Lyngdorn - who paid them no mind.

“The rules are the same as they’ve always been, folks! Ten seconds on the ground is an out! Blood, twice-drawn, is an out! Hit the eyes or the throat with your weapon and that’s a disqualification! Gladiators, take your positions! One and all, say it with me!”

Baatar felt the atmosphere ratchet into higher and higher anticipation as the crowd roared as one.

“UPON THE BLOODSANDS! ALL MEN ARE MADE EQUAL!”

“GLADIATORS, BEGIN!”

Baatar watched as the Diremites took up a loose semi-circle, six men forming a line and the other six rounding their formation out. They began inching towards Lyngdorn, who stood his ground and adopted a battle stance with his sword out and shield raised. Once within striking distance the line of Diremites flung themselves at Lyngdorn, axes swinging and shouts upon their lips. Ready and waiting, Lyngdorn bounced back a step, dodging out of the way of the incoming strikes before angling himself so that his shield was braced and facing forward; the roegadyn charged forward, slamming his shield into the incoming axemen with all of his weight. Of the six, three scattered and two blocked the strike with the hafts of their axes; one was not so lucky and, raising his axe too late, took the full force of the shield bash in his forearms. The crowd roared in delight as the victim of Lyngdorn’s counterattack crumpled to the ground, dropping his axe and rolling on the sands in obvious pain. Before the others in the front line could reposition, Lyngdorn pressed the attack, tripping one of the fleeing hyurs with a swift kick to his ankles and stomping on his leg hard enough that, in the tense split-second silence which accompanied the strike a bone-crunching crack echoed through the arena.

The remaining ten Diremites scurried back into their formation several steps paces away from Lyngdorn, eying their foe warily. Lyngdorn responded by slamming the pommel of his sword on his shield, and raised his arms as if appealing to the gods.

“COME ON, YOU COWARDS,” Lyngdorn shouted, as much as to his foes as to the crowd. “YOU’LL CALL MY MOTHER A WHORE BUT NOT BACK IT UP WITH ACTION? ARE YOU MEN OR ARE YOU SNIVELLING SCHOOLCHILDREN?”

Two more of the hyurs, apparently, could not abide this insult, and broke formation as a pair to attack the roegadyn swordsman; Baatar watched in delight and frustration as the two fell for what she thought was a clearly obvious feint, and paid for their impatience with a flurry of pommel strikes and thundering bashes from Lyngdorn’s shield. Both fell face-first into the sands, and Lyngdorn spat on them as he stretched his arms.

“HA! Will none of you make me use the sharp end of my sword? Or should I just stand here and let you bastards break upon my shield?”

Baatar hissed in frustration as the Lyngdorn’s eight foes did the stupidest possible thing imaginable and broke ranks to charge at him as an uncoordinated horde. “You swine-shite-idiots! Break yer line and he’ll be beatin’ you senseless!”

“That’s the truth of it,” said a smooth,  _manly_  voice from beside her. She snapped to look at the source of it, and found a man wearing a well-worn and dusty overcoat with no shirt underneath squatting in the seat next to hers. His facial hair - and his demeanor - suggested he’d seen better decades, and most prominent of all was a massive scar which stretched from the bottom of his right eye to the side of his mouth. “This is no proper fight, not for a man who can fight a quarter as good as Lyngdorn, I’d say.” The stranger winced as Lyngdorn sent one of the miqo’te crumbling to the ground with a swift kick to the groin and a shield-bash to the nose. “Now where’s the fun in this, eh?”

“Aye,” Baatar agreed, warily eyeing her fellow spectator. “I mean, this’ll be a good watch, havin’ Lyngdorn beat the tar outta these idiots, but I can’t rightly say it’ll be good sport. An’ why’ll these ‘Diremeites’ be a-carryin’ axes when half their number can barely hold the things right-side-up?”

“Well, young lady, many-a-fighter looks at a sword and thinks to himself, ‘that looks a tad hard to learn.’ And then the poor sod, who’s no doubt been choppin’ wood his or her whole life, sees an axe and thinks ‘well if I can be cutting trees down who’s to say I can’t fell a man?’ It’s shite, yes, but from a point of view…”

Baatar stopped paying any attention to the fight and instead turned to face the stranger. “That so.”

“Yup.”

“Y’know, you’ll be the first person I’ve talked to today who hasn’t said nothin’ bout how I’ll be lookin’ queer-like and all,” Baatar said, her brow furrowed. “What’s your callin’, comin’ here to be talkin’ me up all nice-like?”

“Can’t a man just enjoy the arena?”

“Aye, he can. Rightly can he be doin’ it anywhere else, too.”

“Well, yes, obviously that’s the case,” the man replied, shrugging, “but I like to think most things - the arena included - are best enjoyed in the company of another.”

“You,” Baatar replied slowly, both the temperature of her tone and her good humour dropping like stones, “best not be goin’ down the way I think y’are.”

“How so? I see someone clearly not from around here watching a fight - and not just for sport, but with a keen, thinking eye?” The stranger smiled. “That’s a rarity, and moreso that you look the part of a woman who knows her way ‘round an axe.”

“Is that what you tell all the womenfolk you bed?” Baatar snapped, her tone suddenly sporting more venom than a basilisk in heat. “Aye, you shitebird, I’m on t’ye. You’ll be thinkin’ I’m some doe-eyed, swooning lass, eh? Ye picked the wrong woman t’prey on - so you’ll be bein’ honest with me ‘bout your intentions, or there’ll be the hells to pay.”

“Whoa, whoa there,” the stranger said, shaking his head and raising his hands in defence. “Now there’s an accusation that’s unwarranted! Is that how you react to a compliment?”

“I’m askin’ ye politely to get yourself elsewhere,” Baatar hissed.

“The arena’s for everyone,” the man replied, smirking. “A man can sit where he pleases, here.”

“Aye, but you’ll find it hard to be sittin’ when this here sailor slits ye from arsehole ta bawbag,” Baatar growled. “Now get out of me face.”

“Twelve preserve me,” the man replied, hands raised in mock surrender. “Well then, my fairest dragon-lady, I shall take my leave and hope that on another day we can meet in happier circumstances.” He gave her an appreciative once over. “Much, _much_ happier.”

Baatar blinked.

She stood up, her tail thumping as it hit the seats next to her. “I fuckin’ warned ye,” Baatar said calmly, drawing the dagger she always kept tucked into her tunic. “An’ now, I’mma feed you yer own pecker.”

“Oh. Aha, shite, I’ve somewhere to be. Enjoy the fights!”

 

* * *

“Well, ‘twas worth a try,” Xomni’to said as he and Momolk sat down just outside the Sapphire Avenue Exchange on a loose piece of rubble. The central street of Ul’dah’s famed markets was, like much of the city, close to being fully repaired, though here the carts and the foot-traffic meant that the walls, pavement and even the buildings here had not ever closed for long enough to permit proper rebuilding to finish. “I’m sure we’ll be back in Ul’dah ‘fore long, aye, then you can try to buy that yeast again.”

“Aye, but every day I’ll not be havin’ those yeasts is a day some other folk might bring cool-beer to Limsa,” Momolk grumbled. “All that gil? You, me, the Kha and all the streetfolk we’ll be knowin’, I could set us up as richly as they come.”

Xomni’to smiled, put an arm around his sister and pat her on the shoulder. “True, true, but don’t be losing sleep over this, y’hear? It - oh,  _for fuck’s sakes_.”

“What?” Momolk asked. “What’s it?”

“I do spy with my one good eye Baatar.”

“Oh? She’s out’ve the bloodsands already?”

The taller miqo’te pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh as he pointed in the appropriate direction. “Ooooh, you could say that, aye.”

Momolk followed Xomni’to’s finger and blinked, unsure of how to respond to the sight of Baatar - and her horns and tail made it plain that it was her - chasing a man at full speed.

“GIT TAE FUCK, YA HEAR? I’LL CATCH YE AND YOU’LL BE PRAYIN’ YER MARM HAD THE LUCK TO NE’ER POP YOU OUT’VE HER WOMB!”

“YOU’LL NEVER FIND A FINE, UPSTANDING HUSBAND WITH A MOUTH LIKE THAT, DRAGON-LASS!”

“YOU’LL BE SHITTIN’ OUTTA TWO NEW ARSEHOLES WHEN I’M DONE WITH YE!”

“Bloody hells, it’s a match made in the seventh hell...” Momolk breathed in awe.

The target of Baatar’s ire - smartly, the siblings thought - quickly clambered onto the top of a nearby stall, leaped into the second-storey window of an apartment, paused to toss a final two-fingered salute at his pursuer, and finally disappeared out of view.

“Do not follow him do not follow him do not follow him,” Momolk whispered as fervently as she could, fingers crossed anxiously.

“Twelve be blessed this day,” Xomni’to breathed in relief as Baatar screeched at the window for several moments before shouting something incoherent, clearly giving up on her would-be-prey. She stomped and paced around for a minute, glared at the nearby folk who were staring at her, then stormed off in silence out of sight.

“So. Uh, mayhaps we ought to follow’er?” Momolk offered with a wary grimace. “Y’know, ‘fore she’s liable to stab some poor sod who gives her a queer look.”

“Don’t you mean the ‘next’ poor sod that gives her a queer look?” Xomni’to clarified flatly.

The two exchanged looks, Momolk’s horrified and Xomni’to’s deadpan, and took off at a full sprint after Baatar’s direction.

 

* * *

 

**4TH SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
UL'DAH  
**  
“Ah, ye’re up early,” Striped Lily said.

“Mmm,” Momolk replied, rubbing at her eyes as she sat up in bed. “Time’s it?”

“Jus’ a pinch past seven,” the roegadyn replied; Striped Lily was seated at the small desk by the door of the room, drinking from a tankard. “An’ don’t worry ‘bout wakin’ either a’ those fools - nothing short’ve ano’er Calamity’s likely to be rousin’ them,” she said, jerking her head at the room’s other bed. Baatar and T'thoruma both lay in their underwear, snoring loudly and curled up against one another.

“I didn’t even hear’em come back to th’room,” Momolk muttered as she got out of bed and walked over to the bathroom, washing her face with cold water. “Shite, when’d you think they rolled into bed?”

Striped Lily shrugged and snorted a laugh. “Who’s to say? Never in my life did I think I’d be findin’ someone who’d be drinkin’ Thoruma under the table, but here we are.”

“Huh,” Momolk muttered, walking over to the other bed; she prodded Baatar in the stomach, receiving no response save for Baatar muttering something under her breath and rolling onto her other side. “Well, I’m not stickin’ round jus’ to be watchin’ the two’ve ‘em sleep off however much booze they packed away. I know the cap’n said the night last he’d be up an’ about early-like - did’e come by?”

“Aye, he did.” Striped Lily shrugged. “They’re back t’negotiatin’ again - he’n Arnar left sometime ‘round six in the mornin’. Told me to tells you’n the others there’s no worry ‘bout leaving anytime soon - we’ve another day at the very least in Ul’dah. An’ don’t you worry ‘bout leavin’ these two lovebirds in bed - I’ll stay ‘n watch’em, make sure they don’t go a-hurlin’ all oe’er the sheets or nothin’.”

“My thanks,” Momolk thanked her cheerfully, patting Striped Lily on the knee before pulling her clothes out from her nightstand and putting them on. “I’ll owe ye’a beer or summat.”

“I’ll hold ye to’t.”

Momolk waved as she left the room and made her way downstairs to the main floor of the Quicksand; there were only three patrons besides her, two of whom were adventurers. Xomni’to was seated at the bartop, chatting with Inana and taking tentative sips from what looked like a porcelain cup.

“Oi, mornin’ Xomni, Miss Inana,” Momolk said, clambering up to sit next to her brother.

“A fine morning to you as well, Momolk,” Inana replied, nodding.

“Mornin,” Xomni’to said, looking at his cup with a look Momolk had come to know as unsurety.

“Can I fetch you a breakfast? Something to drink?” Inana asked.

“Uh, y’have a menu or summat?”

“Aye, we do,” the barkeep replied, pulling a well-worn sheaf of parchment out of a nearby drawer and sliding it to Momolk. “Afraid to say it’s not quite as extensive as it was ‘fore the Calamity, but there’s something to suit every taste and coinpurse.”

Momolk scanned the menu and frowned. “Coffee? You’ve coffee here?”

“Aye,” Xomni’to noted, gesturing at his cup. “Saw it here for a quarter the price you find it back home, and figured I could spend a little gil on myself.”

“I did find it odd that your brother - or you, evidently, by the face you’re a-making,” Inana mused, “haven’t had coffee before. Surely Limsa Lominsa deals in tonzes of the stuff.”

“Aye, we’ve shipped it ‘fore, but it goes through the city, not to’t. The stuff’s expensive, hard ta make right, and ‘sides, no proper Lominsan drinks a thing that’s not water, tea or booze,” Momolk said proudly before peering at Xomni’to’s cup. She sniffed at it, then frowned. “Smells good, though?”

“It does. Tastes...odd,” Xomni’to offered. “Bitter, but not unpleasantly so.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“If you’d like, plenty of folk take it with milks and sugars,” Inana noted. “Comes free with every order, too.”

“Ah, shite, why not. I’ll take a coffee an’ a breakfast plate.”

“Certainly. That’ll be eighty gil, if you please,” Inana said as Momolk pulled a handful of coins and passed them over; Inana tossed them into a hole in her desk. “How’ll you like your eggs?”

“Fried, please.”

“And your meat?”

“Bacon.”

“Good choice,” Inana said, scribbling on a small piece of parchment before sliding it down a second, smaller hole behind her. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. So, Xomni’to says he’s planning on spending the day at the Arrzaneth Ossuary, hoping to pick the brains and books of the Thaumaturge’s Guild for his benefit. Have you any plans?”

“Aye, I do,” Momolk replied with a confident nod. “I’ve a mind to purchase some of that yeast you’ll be usin’ to make cool-beer - the Brewer’s Guild said they’d not be sellin’ their stock, an’ the markets were empty. I’ll be goin’ to the Alchemists’ Guild to see if they’ll not sell me some.”

“I wouldn’t put too much of your hopes into that,” Inana said, shaking her head. “Frankly the only reason why the Quicksand’s been able to buy cool-beer’s thanks to Miss Momodi and her knowing the right folks from the Brewer’s Guild - I imagine if the alchemists have it they’ll be keeping it for their experimenting and the such, an’ they won’t take kindly to the idea of parting with it for the sake of... eh...” Inana trailed off as she glanced away uncomfortably.

“A penniless street rat fresh off the boat from the scummy pirate hive o’ Limsa?” Momolk asked flatly.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but...” Inana coughed, refusing to meet her client’s gaze.

Momolk sighed wearily, slumping down to rest her chin in her arms with a grumble. “And here’s I was thinkin’ you could buy anything in Ul’dah if you’d the gil for’t.”

“Well, that’s still true. I’m sure if you rolled into the Brewer’s Guild with a dozen carts of hundred-gil coins they’d happily hand you some,” Inana said with a helpless shrug. “Just the way of things - I’m sure, come a few moons or so, there’ll be more’ve the stuff about. But for now... pardon my Lominsan, but you’re piss out of luck.”

“Few moons?!” Momolk shot up right with an offended back. “How’s I to be sure nobody else’ll buy the damn things and bring’em back to Limsa ‘fore I do?!”

“Aye, keep your voice down, Momolk,” Xomni’to prompted dully. “If it’s so, it’s so.”

“I can’t be faulted for wantin’ to make easy gil, though. That cool-beer’s so unlike ale - and light! Even the thinnest milk-drinking waif can be puttin’ a tankard o’ the stuff back without trouble. Can y’imagine the mountains’a coin the first bastard who sells the stuff in Limsa’ll be swimmin’ in?” Momolk ranted, waving her hands around, her eyes glazing over. “Think’ve it! They’ll be havin’ to make a vault jus’ for the sea of gold! A woman could dive right’n and swim in the damn thing!”

“So, uh, not sure of your birthplace, eh?” Inana cackled, roaring with laughter. “You’ve a taste for riches and the ambition to boot! Ul’dah’s fits you like a glove, it does!”

“There’s the truth,” Momolk replied, pounding the bartop. “Gil’s the only gift of note for a woman!”

There was a ding from a small bell mounted on the wall behind Inana; a wooden panel built into the same section of wall slid open, and Momolk’s breakfast rose into view. Inana grabbed the tray and set out a plate of eggs and bacon as well as a cup of coffee, a small saucer of milk and a tiny parchment-pocket labeled Ahihi Ahi’s Finest Maple Sugars est. 1520: Harvested in Gridania, Made in Ul’dah.

“Good breakfasting, Miss Momolk,” Inana said with a curtsey.

“Aye, thanks be t’ye.” Momolk grabbed her fork and was about to dig in when she paused, watching Xomni’to take another sip of his black coffee. “Hey, why’ll you not be puttin’ sugars and milks in yours?”

“Miss Inana informed me that, amongst those who pride themselves on the quality of coffee they drink, this is the proper way to enjoy it,” Xomni’to explained slowly. “Truthfully I can already see why.”

“I did say that,” Inana noted, shrugging. “But I also did say that any folk who pisses on another for not takin’ their coffee straight - unless it’ll be the sort that costs a thousand gil a bean or the like - is a real shitepot of a person.”

“Well no harm in tryin’ it so, still,” Momolk said, taking a sip from her cup. She swallowed the mouthful of coffee, shut her eyes and retched slightly, coughing. “Proper way t’enjoy it my arse! Tastes like shite, vomit’n other things besides in one! How’ll anyone be drinkin’ this?” Momolk snatched Xomni’tos unused sugar packet and milk-saucer, tore both hers and her brother’s packets open and emptied their contents into her cup, then emptied both milk-saucers into her own drink. Stirring it with the bottom of her fork, she took another sip, then nodded. “See? There’s a fine drink I can get behind, aye.”

Xomni’to watched as Momolk slid her cup over to him, sniffed at it and took a drink before sighing and rolling his eyes. “Would you like some coffee with your sugared milk, Momo?”

“Piss off! If drinkin’ yer toilet-water’ll be the height of class I’ll stay an uncouth woman, thank ye very much.” Momolk took several more swigs of her drink, sighing contentedly as she set the cup down. “Now there’s a fine drink, indeed. Sweet as summer and goes down easy-like.”

“And guaranteed to stop your heart as swift as any dagger,” Xomni muttered into his cup, summarily ignoring the crumpled up sugar packet that was bounced off his temple.

Momolk proceeded to cut her bacon slices into small chunks, before doing the same with her fried egg; she heaped and mixed her cubed breakfast into a small yolk-covered pile, then proceeded to wolf the food down; less than five minutes later the plate was clean.

“Ah, good fuel for the sun to come. Thanks again, Inana.”

“No need to thank me - you paid me for the food,” Inana replied with a grin.

“Well, I’ve yeasts’ to be findin’ and reagents to be buyin’, Xomni,” Momolk said, standing up to pat Xomni’to’s shoulder. “You’ll be good for the sun?”

“Aye, I will. If you’ve need of me I’ll be at the Thaumaturge’s Guild, or failing that back here, most likely.”

“Right, then - I’ll be off!”

“Never back down, Miss Momolk! Strike a bargain and make that gil,” Inana shouted with a pump of her fist.

“Too right! Not sellin’ me what I’d like - they’ve yet to met the likes of Momolk Molkoh!”

 

* * *

 

“The piss you mean, you’ll not be sellin’ me anything? The yeasts, I ken. Fine. But nothin’t’all?” Momolk shouted in disbelief. “Don’t be tellin’ me that, Miss Esmenet, not even as a jest! Every sod’n the market’ll sell me somethin’! Surely you can spare me even the slightest sprig, intellectual ta’ intellectual!”

“Yes, Miss Molkoh, I understand, but we’re not the market. Even if our stocks were not so thin,” the hyuran woman said with a shrug, “the guild’s policy is not to sell our supplies to outsiders. Surely, if you’ve any knowledge whatsoever of the alchemical sciences, you’re aware of the great dangers posed by untrained alchemical practice. Rather than risk offense or trouble by selling our ingredients to our non-guild customers, we simply sell finished products.”

“I - you - okay, okay, so I’ll not be askin’ for poisons or the like. Just the sorts’a things a goodly sailor from Limsa mightn’t be able to find back home,” Momolk hissed through gritted teeth.

“I’m afraid our policy regarding sales is strict. Very strict. Perhaps you could try the markets?”

Momolk’s eye twitched vehemently as her fingers started to dig furrows into the desk. “I just came from the bleedin’ markets, and they’re either tryin’ to all but slice me purse from its strings or boot me out on me arse before I can say mum!

“My apologies. Nonetheless, rules are rules - though, if you’d like I could pass this up to my superior and see if he’ll be willing to make an exception.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Momolk said slowly. “Though, o’course, you’ll not be mindin’ me sittin’ in the lobby with me books to make sure you’ll not just’ be sayin’ that to get me outta yer hair.”

“Of course not,” Esmenet replied in genuine surprise. “Deitrich - the receptionist and my immediate superior, generally arrives around eight or so. If you’d like to stay - or come back then - I’ve no problem with that.”

Momolk grumbled as she walked over to one of the nearby benches, climbed onto it and pulled out a tome she’d purchased the day before, An Initiate’s Guide to The Brewing of Spirits and Liquors. Sighing, she opened it to the page she’d last read and began reading, glancing up at the chronometer which sat above the reception desk every so often. Nearly half a bell passed before something disturbed her focus; it was another lalafellian woman, who looked to be around Momolk’s own age. This new patron wore a pink longcoat and matching turban; her strawberry-blonde hair poked out of the headdress at one side, and despite her simple clothing her immaculate appearance and dignified manner of walking bespoke a woman of stature and class.

“Ahh, a good morning to you, Miss Esmenet,” the woman said with a small curtsey.

Esmenet looked up from her books, examined her would-be-customer and visibly flinched. “Oh, Twelve, uh, and a good morning to you indeed, Miss, ah-”

“-Lilira, if you please,” the woman finished with a smile.

“Right, yes, Lilira, of course! What can I do for you this fine morning?”

“I came to speak with Ser Deitrich regarding an experiment of mine,” Lilira said, frowning. “Alas, I do see that he is yet to arrive this morning. Do you know the time of his arrival this sun?”

“Apologies, my lady. He’s normally here by this time - running late, I suppose. If it pleases you, I can pearl your-”

“-that’ll not be necessary,” Lilira said, waving her hands frantically. “Please, do not trouble yourself with such things. I shall await Ser Deitrich’s arrival here.”

“A-ah. Right. I see. Please, Lady Lira, if you need anything please just but ask, and I shall fetch you what I can,” Esmenet said with a bow before turning back to her books. Momolk watched this newcomer with interest and more than a little suspicion as she joined her on the bench.

“Mornin’ to ye,” Momolk said, making a point to look up from her book.

“Ah, a fine - oh gods above,” Lilira yelped, taking in Momolk’s visage. “Your - Nald and Thal - my apologies,” Lilira said, visibly composing herself. “Your...your face, good woman, it simply shocked me to see your visage so burned.”

“Ah, it’ll be no problem,” Momolk replied, scratching at her cheek with a sigh. “Half me face burned to shite and so’ll part’a’me body, aye, but it don’t hurt none. An’ I can see outta me left eye alright, too.”

“Does… you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“Not anymore, no,” Momolk said with a shake of her head. “Had a moon to get used to it, ya know? Looks like arse but ‘less it’s pointed out t’me I forget’t, frankly speakin’.”

“I, uh, I see. By your accent, I imagine you hail from Limsa Lominsa, yes?”

“Aye, that’ll be so.”

Lilira shook her head and stared off into the ceiling for a moment. “We were not spared by the Dreadwyrm, either, but from what I have heard the damages and suffering inflicted upon your fair city were a magnitude worse than was experienced here.” She paused, silent for several seconds, before taking Momolk’s calloused, rough hands in her own - soft and perfectly smooth, Momolk noted - and clasped them together. “You have my condolences, Miss -”

“-Momolk. Momolk Molkoh. And you’ll be Lilira Lira, if I’ve the right of’t?”

Lilira’s face flickered with an expression that Momolk couldn’t quite place - glee, melancholy, longing - before settling on a smile. “Indeed it is, Miss Molkoh. Lilira Lira, at your service.”

“Pardon my askin’, but you’ll be a noblewoman, aye?”

“Yes, indeed I am.”

“I hope you’ll be forgivin’ me for my roughness, then,” Momolk grimaced uneasily as she relaxed in her seat. “Never’ve I talked to a landed woman.”

“No, no, it is quite alright. You’ll not face sanction nor anger from myself for speaking in the manner you normally do.” Lilira hastily waved her off. “ I shall not have you mince words or guard your speech when speaking with me, Momolk.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Huh,” Momolk muttered. “And here’s I was thinkin’ every sod’n the market with a bulgin’ coinpurse would be treatin’ me like shite.”

“Well, I cannot speak for every person of wealth in Ul’dah,” Lilira noted with distaste, “but it is true that many such people are...prone to bouts of rudeness and thinking themselves superior by merit of the size of their coinpurses. Or their treasure vaults. So it is that I try to avoid falling into that manner of thinking, so I ask your forgiveness if I offend you, whether through ignorance of custom or manner.”

Momolk blinked several times, then shrugged. “Alright. Frankly you’ll be havin’ a hard time rilin’ me up, I think, ‘less you go off ‘bout how my city’s a piece of shite or somethin’ I’ll not be upset or the like.”

“Thank you, Momolk. Your openness is refreshing and much appreciated.” Lilira graced her companion with a polite smile and nod. “So, what brings you to Ul’dah all the way from Limsa Lominsa, Miss Molkoh? I’m aware that, speaking generally, travel over long distance by any manner at this time is more than a little difficult.”

“Ah, me’n a bunch’a folks, we’re sailors ‘board a schooner.” Momolk waved her hand casually. “One’ve the first t’leave Lominsan waters, aye. The Cap’n, he’ll have us stay for a few suns while he figures our next job.”

“I see, I see. You say there’ve been only a few boats who’ve resumed working? I assume the Calamity did quite a number on the sailors of Limsa Lominsa and their ships.”

“Aye, sadly so.” Momolk confirmed with a rueful scowl. “The Cap’n an’ his mates, they’d kept the ship we’re usin’ now a tad inland, and lucky they were t’do so. Most ships - most anythin’ - got blasted to the hells. If it weren’t the giant fuck-off dragon settin’ the whole damn continent alight, it were the Dalamud-bits smashin’ int’everythin’, and if it weren’t that neither, the tidal waves finished the job. An’ all that besides, even if sailors had their craft, most would’a prob’ly stayed on land t’help with rebuildin’ the city and such.”

“I’d heard that Limsa Lominsa had taken a great deal of the Calamity’s ire, indeed. Have you been home recently?”

“Haven’t seen her in a moon or so, ‘fraid to say. Things were lookin’ like a nightmare when we’s left - most the city still in ruins, gates barely fixed and the healers were startin’ t’have to triage patients, so low we were on medicines and the like.” Momolk sighed, and gestured widely around her. “More’n a little envious I am of Ul’dah. Save fer’the pockmarks and holes about, it’s like yer city suffered nary a scratch.”

Lilira’s face darkened, and her tone dropped. “Like and actually being are two different things, Miss Molkoh. Just because the front porch of Ul’dah glitters as ever before, does not mean that the back yard shines with the same quality. Here, too, our healers are strained, and yet there was gil enough to rebuild the Coliseum with more gilding than it had previous. Funny, how that works.”

Momolk whistled lowly. “Well I’m no mayor or the like, but even here your healers’ll be having trouble? That’s mad, it is.”

“It’s...difficult.” Lilira kneaded the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh. “ The public and the publicly funded healers generally have little trouble, but, well, this being a city of such free and enterprising folk, many-a-businessman smelled blood - and profit - in these troubled times. Stocks of medical supplies were low all around when the Calamity hit, and men of coin have been buying up everything they can find to resell it at higher prices. For the wealthiest of chirurgeons who serve the exclusive over the masses, this is no problem, of course. But for everyone else? Let us just say that when a quality roll of clean-woven bandage is more than a hundred gil...” Lilira trailed off, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. “I shall not say that every man of wealth should cut his purse and empty his vaults to help those in need, but neither is it right that their response is to gild their newfound coins in the suffering of others.”

Momolk shrugged. “Folk like that, you’ll not be stoppin’ them by askin’. Not’n a city like this’n, I think. I mean, these’re men who’ll sooner sell they left baw than turn away a chance t’profit.”

“Do you mean to say that the only reasonable response would be to have the authorities take their wealth away?” Lilira inquired, a slight grimace flashing across her face. “A kind enough fancy in some aspects, but... honestly, I would be loathe to see the Sultanate and its swords be aimed at its own citizens, justified or not.”

“Well, that’s one way t’do it. If the Admiral of my fair Limsa were t’try’t, it’d work, methinks. She’s our Admiral and we her deckhands, so t’say.” Momolk cupped her chin thoughtfully. “But the Sultana, if my book-readin’ an’ talkin’ t’folks ‘round here have the right of’t, she’s got t’balance her rule. Admiral Merlwyb, Twelve bless her, she has a pistol in one hand an’ grog in th’other. Ul’dah seems a place where such a way of goin’ ‘bout things would more’n’likely backfire harder than’ a stuffed cannon.”

Lilira coughed heavily into her fist, glancing away hastily. “I-ah-I must agree. But that gets us no closer to, scholars that we are at the moment, solving the issue.”

“Weeeell, off the top o’ me head...” Momolk scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Ul’dah, she’s got the aetheryte up ‘fore anyone else, aye? And trade’ll be the Ul’dah’s version of Limsa’s seafaring. If’t were me, I’d use the ‘ryte an the coin in the town - I says to the rich folk, ‘here’ll be all the supplies we’ll be needin’. First to give the goods - for free or real cheap-like - gets priority’n the trade routes that’ll be poppin’ back up.’ Or somesuch. Maybe a pass on taxes fer later, or a ticket t’avoid tolls, or whatever. You ken?”

“That... could work with a little refining, I’m sure.” Lilira hedged uncomfortably. “But what you are suggesting...not bribery-”

“-bribery, that’ll be’n ugly word.” Momolk waved her hands hastily. “Call it... ‘Incentivizin’, ‘tis more like.” The Limsan shrugged dismissively. “An’ ‘sides, better a dirty taste’n the Sultana’s mouth than havin’ t’watch the poorfolk die’n the streets, aye?”

Lilira said nothing for a minute before nodding slowly. “I suppose that, put into perspective, the decision makes the most sense.”

“Jus’ how I’d be doin’ it,” Momolk said with a wave of her hand. “A sailor don’t paddle with musket. The right tool for th’right job, aye?”

“‘Aye’ indeed,” Lilira breathed, only just managing to reign her excitement in. “I-I myself do not have the pleasure of knowing the Sultana myself, but certain, I am, that were I to pen a missive and send it by my acquaintances, it would eventually end up on the Sultana’s desk. I must ad-” Lilira stopped as the door to the guild burst open, and both lalafells looked up to see a black-haired hyur jogged in.

“Oh, Ser Deitrich,” Lilira said, turning to the man. “You look flustered! Did something happen?”

“Ah, Lady Lilira, a pleasure to meet you this fine morning,” Deitrich greeted, bowing slightly. “I’m afraid I was held up by the Sultansworn - they’d set a perimeter around my apartment, and questioned me very thouroughly. Something about, ah, the Sultana being out of their sight.”

Lilira’s face drained of blood faster than a cactuar with its ass on fire. “Oh,” she whispered quietly.

Momolk eyed her new acquaintance contemplatively. “‘Pen a missive’, eh?”

“Yes, thank you. If you’re insinuating that I of all people am the Sultana, well, I will not stop you.” Lilira hissed hastily. “But suffice it to say that, at this moment, I am supposed to be attending a meeting with Her Grace’s advisors.”

“That so?” Momolk confirmed, her expression and tone both as flat as paper.

“Indeed. And it would not do for me to be, ah, skipping out on the advising.” Lilira tugged at her collar with an uncomfortable cough. “So, Miss Momolk, if I could trouble you for a little more assistance - I would appreciate your help in hiding my person.”

“Whatever you do choose to do,” Deitrich said as he made his way behind the reception desk, “I would do it soon. The Sultansworn I spoke to said they’d be sending patrols this way shortly - and they looked none too pleased about it.”

“Well, ah, Miss Lira,” Momolk said, hopping down from the bench. “If we’re to be hidin’ ye we’d best get started. Oh, and you! You’ll be Deitrich, eh?” she said, glaring at the guild’s receptionist as he sat down.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Mark yerself well: This ain’t the last you’ve heard of Momolk Molkoh,” the lalafell promised him with a scowl.

Deitrich blinked and looked around. “Uh. Okay?”

“Damn right. Come on, Lilira, the market’ll be the easiest place t’hide,” Momolk said, helping Lilira down from the bench.

“You know the way?”

Momolk’s good eye twitched furiously. “Ooooh aye, I’d say I do.

Taking her by the hand, Momolk led Lilira out of the guild and through the winding corridors of subterranean Ul’dah; they walked at a brisk but unremarkable pace, and whenever any of the blue-and-white clad Sultansworn guards were within sight Momolk expertly weaved the two of them in and out of crowds, always making sure that there was someone or something blocked line-of-sight between them and their would-be-pursuers.

“My goodness,” Lilira muttered, panting slightly as she did her best to keep up with Momolk’s quick pace, “you dance through these crowds as though you were born and raised here.”

“Easy as piss. Dock rattin’ in Limsa’s no easy thing,” Momolk said, eyes flitting about as she scanned their surroundings. “Sultansworn’ll be lookin’ for a lone woman in all her finery , not two lasses carousin’ through th’city.”

Soon enough they were out of the underground portion of the city and walking up towards ground level; the markets, Momolk remembered, had only one entrance from the direction they were walking in. She cursed under her breath as she realized that there was a patrol coming up a minute or so behind them, and another set of guards leaving the markets and moving towards them.

“Lilira, start shouting about something scandalous,  _now_ ,” Momolk hissed, pulling her aside so that Lilira’s front faced a section of wall.

“Oh, goodness,” Lilira gasped in an exaggerated manner, not missing a beat, “and then I saw - would you believe it - none other than Syndicate man-of-the-hour himself Teledji Adeledji, bless his soul, leaving his mansion in the middle of the night? So I followed him - well, of course I did, I wouldn’t be missing that for anything - and you. Would. Not. Believe. Where he ended up.”

“No, you can not be serious,” Momolk whispered at such a volume that all could hear, affecting the Ul’dahn accent as best she could. “It wouldn’t be a  _whorehouse_ , would it?”

“Worse! Worse, I tell you - it was none other than Lord Lolorito’s abode!” Lilira’s wrist shot to her forehead in a swoon.

“Excuse me? Surely you jest!” Momolk shouted, keeping an eye on the guards who were now only ilms away. “Can you imagine? Lolorito and Teledji, crawling into each other’s arms like forbidden lovers? It’s the stuff of bad romances and the like! Two old, wizened, money-grubbing men, toughly tugging on one another as they tear at each other’s clothes- okay, shite, they’re gone,” Momolk cut herself off as soon as the guards passed, sighing in relief.

“And how. That story,” Lilira gagged with audible disgust, “had it continued a moment longer, would have had me vomiting.”

“You’s the one that started it,” Momolk pointed out.

“You asked me to come up with something scandalous, so I did!”

“Ahh, and what a scandal it’d be, no? Like I was a-sayin’, can y’imagine? Two’ve the Syndicate, touchin’ each other all intimate-like, really gettin’ t’know each other-”

“-please, please cease this story. You shall have anything you want and a million favours from me,” Lilira gurgled, her visage steadily becoming greener and greener, “but if I have to hear another minute of your sordid tale I fear I’ll lose my breakfast upon the ground.”

“Ah... aheh, apologies, m’lady,” Momolk winced with a sheepish grin as she bowed out a rushed curtsy. “Could be that I’s, ah, was a-gettin’ a tad invested in me story. Still, it’d fetch good gil if I’d pen the thing and sell’t, now.”

“You will do no such thing in my company. Good gods, though, I must say I am famished,” Lilira noted, delicately wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. “That was quite the adventure, though!”

“Well if yer hungry I’ll not say no t’lunch,” Momolk said. “Will ye be wantin’ me t’pay?”

“Certainly the least I can do is purchase a meal for you, Miss Molkoh, for the pleasure of your company and the inspiration of your thoughts.”

“Well, I’ll eat about anythin’, Lady Lira,” Momolk said with a grin which faded slightly. “Ah. Coffee. I don’t like coffee, not without sugars and milk a-plenty.”

“Oho! Do you have a taste for the sweeter things in life?” Lilira asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes. Yes I do,” Momolk breathed, eyes glazing over. “Ohhhh, do I ever.”

“Well then. I shall lead the way, with you to watch for more of the guards, I think. There is a vendor of sundry sweets that I have heard much of, but never had the chance to enjoy due to my, ah, busy schedule. We shall go forthwith!”

The two lalafells marched off into the market, just two more Ul’dahn citizens going about their mid-morning business; the Sultansworn guards they passed paid neither of them any attention, and so the two of them arrived in front of a busy restaurant tucked into the stone walls of the Sapphire Exchange unmolested and unnoticed.

“Now. Going by my chronometer,” Lilira said, glancing at a small pocket-chronometer chained to the inside of her coat, “I’ve another three hours or so before I must be away. How does your schedule fare?”

“Nothin’ to be doin’, at least not ‘til the sun sets,” Momolk replied.

“Good. Now we two fine women are going to sit here, drink tea and eat pastries until our stomachs burst. Is that acceptable?”

Momolk licked her lips.

“Oh yes. More than.”

 

* * *

 

“Too right! Not sellin’ me what I’d like - they’ve yet to met the likes of Momolk Molkoh!”

Xomni’to watched his sister saunter out of the Quicksand, smiling slightly for a split moment before returning to his coffee.

“Ahh, the joys of siblings, eh?” Inana said, collecting Momolk’s dishes and piling them back onto the tray they were sent up in. She set them into a different dumbwaiter behind her and pulled a lever, sending them out of sight. “She seems like a handful.”

“Aye. Schemes and saltwater, she is,” Xomni’to noted with muted pride. “But she has my back, and I hers.”

“That’s family, mhmm.”

“You have siblings?”

“Two brothers and three sisters, Twelve bless my poor mother’n’father,” Inana chuckled with a knowing smile. “I’ll be the youngest of them.”

“Heh. Living with Baatarsaikhan, I think I’ve an idea of the chaos that must be like,” Xomni’to mused after a moment’s thought. He paused, finished his drink, and looked into his now-empty cup with a pleased nod. “You know, in a single cup my opinion of this drink’s gone from disgust to...begrudging, let’s say, acceptance.”

“Ha! Soon enough you’ll be drinking the stuff instead of water,” Inana said, grinning. “The drink of the early riser and the hardest worker, so the saying goes.”

“And on that note, I’ll be off to see if I can’t learn anything useful from the local thaumaturges. A good day to you, Miss Inana.”

“And you, Xomni’to.”

With a nod and a wave, Xomni’to slid off his chair and left the Quicksand, making his way over to the aetheryte station which sat just outside the tavern’s entrance; a quick teleport later he found himself on the other end of the city, standing before the great stone pillars of the Arrzaneth Ossuary, Ul’dah’s temple to Thal, and home to the Thaumaturge’s Guild. Temple-goers and thaumaturges alike paid him no mind as he ascended the steps and entered the massive, spacious temple to Ul’dah’s god of commerce and death. The interior of the temple just beyond the entrance seemed to be a massive chamber with no furnishings save for a small reception desk to the right of the doors; purple banners with gold trim bearing the guild’s flaming cauldron sigil hung from walls and the ceiling. A massive statue of Thal, wavy sword in hand, stood upon a richly-decorated shrine towards the halfway point of the hall and massive shelves of books stretched from floor to echoing ceiling, bearing many a thaumaturge upon sliding ladders.

“Good sir, may I assist you this sun?” The voice came from a lavender-haired lalafellin woman, stern-looking and wearing a monocle, who sat at the front desk said, waving at Xomni’to.

“Aye,” he replied, making his way over. “I’ve traveled from Limsa Lominsa, and it just so happens I have a few suns to spend in Ul’dah. Being an arcanist myself, I was hoping to access some of the guild’s knowledge to better understand and wield my arcanima.”

“Well, sir, you are in luck - though this may be the guild of the Thaumaturge, you’ll still find plenty of writing on the subject of other practices of magic here. Ah, it’ll be my pleasure to point you in the right direction, Master…?”

“Xomni’to,” he answered, shaking the woman’s hand. “Xomni’to Molkoh.”

“Mmm. Well met, Master Molkoh. You may call me Yayake,” the woman said politely with a small nod of her head. “So, arcanima, hmm? How do you rank in the guild?”

“Technically speaking I’ve only passed the initiation tests,” Xomni’to explained, “but that’s more to do with the Calamity than my skill or the testing, frankly.”

“Ah.” Yayake’s enthusiasm dimmed visibly. “So you can summon a Carbuncle, then?”

“I can.”

“Can I see? Just for proof - the guildmaster will have my head if I were to let an untrained member of the public access to our repositories without explicit permission.”

“Of course,” Xomni’to said, nodding as he stepped to the side of the reception desk. He pulled his picatrix out of his bookbag, drew the quill out of the small holster on the cover, and flipped over to one of the unused geometric array templates kept near the front of the book for easy access. He frowned, taking a few seconds to run over all of the figures in his head, then filled in the page, completing the array’s complex geometric patterns and scribbling out aetherflow equations. His work completed, he sent a surge of aether into and through his newly-completed array, felt the scratched and worn emerald around his neck pulsate with power and smiled at a job well done as his carbuncle popped into life at his feet.

“Wonderful! You can keep your Carbuncle out if you’d like,” Yayake said, nodding with approval at Xomni’to’s newly-summoned familiar. “Erasmus,” she said to the hyur working at the seat next to hers, “would you mind taking over for a moment while I see Master Xomni’to to the studies?”

“Mmm, of course,” the man replied. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks. If you’ll follow me,” Yayake said, fishing a keyring out of her pockets as she escorted Xomni’to over to a set of double doors behind the reception desk; she unlocked the door to reveal a massive, winding library, undecorated and utilitarian, filled with tables and study rooms. “So, you’ll find maps of the library’s layout every twenty yalms or so - and each individual shelf has its own information sheet about the tomes stored there. Feel free to select whichever and as many books as you’d like - each one is marked with its proper location, to make it easier to put things back in their place. No eating or drinking is permitted, obviously, and while your arcanima is far less destructive than most of the testing that goes on here I ask that if you need to practice anything that, ah, might cause damage to the books that you move to the testing range in the rear of the library.”

“I’ll be sure to do so, Yayake.”

“Of course. Now, is there anything in particular you’ll be hoping to find today?”

“An issue in my control arrays,” Xomni’to said, sparing a glance at his Carbuncle, which was presently staring at the ceiling of the library. “I’ve tamed mine, and it follows my commands to my liking. The trouble stems from the balance of agency within it.”

“How so? Surely if it follows your commands, you’ve not got a problem?” Yayake asked, frowning. “Forgive me if it seems a basic question - arcanima has never been my strong suit.”

“Well,” Xomni’to explained, “as I said, balance is the issue. The control I desire over the Carbuncle comes at the cost of independence - more than once, an obvious obstacle or danger has presented itself, and my familiar is content to stand in harm’s way unless I order it to move. My attempts to grant it the independence to have any sort of self-preservation have been fruitless - either the creature remains as intelligent as a brick, or rebellious enough that it does not always heed my commands.”

“Ah. Well, I’m afraid I’ll be of little help on the matter,” Yayake said with a shake of her head, “but I hope your search for knowledge her proves fruitful. If you need anything else just pop back out and let me know, alright?” Yayake smiled, nodded and waved as she left Xomni’to in the library; walking up to the map by the door, Xomni’to scanned the map of the library. Arcanima had its own small section tucked away in the rear of the library, close to the testing ranges, and Xomni’to figured that he might as well start there.

None of the students or guildmembers paid him any attention as he walked through the library; all those he passed were buried deep within piles of thaumaturgic tomes, working out equations or writing papers. Finding his destination took nearly five minutes of searching, and Xomni’to was pleasantly surprised to find that while the map’s depiction of the arcanima shelf had been small, the shelf itself was taller than many of the others present. He recognized a few of the books -  _A Treatise On The Flow of Aether_  and  _Arcane Magistry and its Applications_  in particular took him back to his earliest days at the guild back home - and, unsure of what exactly to begin with, simply pulled out a handful of books whose titles he thought might help him in perfecting the design of his control arrays. Satisfied and humming with anticipation, he carried his tomes over to a nearby table, laid them out, pulled a large sheaf of parchment from his bookbag and set his tools of the trade on the table: metal canisters of ink, both regular and aether-conducting, several quills, metal drawing-guides of various shapes and his trusty picatrix for reference.

The first two books -  _Geometric Magics and Their Construction_  and  _The Fundamentals of Control Array Construction_  - yielded little information Xomni’to wasn’t already aware of, and the new information he found therein appeared to be changes in equation and construction that were more matters of style and individual preference, rather than fundamental changes of technique. Still, he carefully noted the possible modifications he could make to his arrays before setting those books aside.

Without a chronometer nearby, Xomni’to wasn’t sure how much time had passed once he finally finished his first stack of five books; still, he’d managed to fill about a quarter of a page with ideas on how to modify his existing work. Unsatisfied but undaunted, Xomni’to returned the books to their rightful places, selected another five and resumed his work.

After another three repetitions of this, Xomni’to had one page, filled with equations and ideas; he set to work crafting various versions of his control arrays, until he had a dozen to test. He unsummoned his Carbuncle, took one of the test pages, and used it to re-summon his familiar; next, he took a small rock out of his bookbag - normally used to weight pages down on windy days aboard the Little Kweh - and rolled it at his Carbuncle. The rock hit the familiar in the face with a thud, and the small blue creature blinked several times at the stone before resuming its usual blank stare.

“Alright,” Xomni’to muttered, letter his aether flow through the air towards the familiar. _Carbuncle, avoid the rock, but remain within my control,_  he thought, feeling for the telltale sensation of a proper link between him and the Carbuncle. He got up to retrieve the rock, and cursed under his breath as the Carbuncle began wandering around in aimless circles before bumping into a nearby bookshelf. Sighing, Xomni’to unsummoned his familiar, set aside the test array in a pile he’d mentally marked as needing further examination, and repeated the test with another sheet. This time, the Carbuncle failed to avoid the rock after he’d told it to, and so the second sheet was thrown onto the pile. Soon enough, Xomni’to was left with no progress, a dozen failed tests and a sense of frustration he’d grown to become used to.

Well, back to the drafting table.

More books. More tests. More failures.

Bells -  _well, probably bells_ , Xomni’to thought, unsure of how much time was passing in the windowless library - later Xomni’to was less frustrated and more confused. No matter what he did, the balance he desired from his familiar never came into reach, and he’d exhausted nearly half the books in the arcanima section of the library. A small mountain of papers sat around his desk, and he frowned, glaring at his Carbuncle as it repeatedly walked into the leg of his chair.

“You seem troubled,” came a woman’s voice from behind him. “Is your Carbuncle being difficult?”

“Aye, it is,” Xomni’to replied, looking up from his work. A white-haired miqo’te Seeker of the Sun stood behind him, dressed in simple hempen robes; an odd, three-lensed google hung at her hip, as did a small budding maple wand; she had a hand on her chin and was examining his arrays with a thoughtful look on her face. “You’re not of the guild, are you?”

“What gives you the impression?” the woman replied, a thin smile upon her face.

“Your wand is of the wrong sort, if I recall correctly. So too are your robes - I think I’ve seen nary a soul here wear anything but black-dyed robes. And those queer goggles you carry.”

“A most astute observation,” the woman said in a tone Xomni’to wasn’t quite certain was sincere. “Indeed, I am no thaumaturge. Merely a woman with an interest in magics.”

“And how fares your arcanima?”

“Sadly, ‘tis not my area of expertise - I lean towards the arts of conjury. But my knowledge of arcanima is, if you’ll excuse my bragging, passable enough, and so too do I know many an arcanist who I might say has a great deal of skill in the field.” The woman leaned in further, then smirked. “Your issue is with balancing your familiar’s agency and its obedience to your commands?”

“It is,” Xomni’to replied with a frown. “It poses a great deal of trouble - either my familiar has the brains of a rock, or the energy of a child after a midday nap.”

“Well, the problem is clear to see,” the woman said, tracing a finger through the array he was currently working on towards its center. “I see all of your sheets bear the same template - are these arrays copied, or of your own design?”

“My own, as much as any magister can be said to be truly original in their working,” Xomni’to noted.

“Hmm. I see. I notice all of your inner arrays utilize a set of three angular spirals which connect at the very center. You hope, I assume, to slow the aether you work with by means of the angles? In fact, you rely a great deal on angular geometries and sharp angles.”

“Yes, that’s the case. Rather than reduce my own aetherflow, I find that retarding the speed at which my initial aetherflow produces via angles such as these allows me more freedom to push a larger total output when the summoning itself completes.”

The woman crossed her arms, stepping back. “That is all well and good, but a more powerful Carbuncle is of no use if it does not do as you wish,” she noted dryly. “One can cook a steak in lava, but the ashes that result can hardly be called useful.”

“I - excuse me? Do you mean to imply that, in an attempt to...to show off my abilities, that I’ve overlooked something as simple as a lack of aether saturation in the control nodes?”

“You have said it yourself, sir. Look yourself - half your array is devoted to maximizing your output. I am no master of this art, but even I am aware that the recommended ratio of control to output is, at minimum, a factor of seventy-five to twenty-five percent.”

Xomni’to threw up his hands in frustration. “That is how my arrays looked before I came here today. These,” Xomni’to grumbled, “are the product of my experiments today - and I will have you know, while my balance of control over my Cabuncle sees no progress, neither has it resulted in any regression. My decision to infuse higher degrees of aether into the familiar is simply an optimization, not...not some idiot scheme to show off, or the like.”

“For such a simple stylistic choice in array, you seem very defensive on the matter.”

“Defen - well I don’t particularly appreciate being insulted, thank you very much.”

“Never did I utter a denigrating word,” the woman replied with a smirk and a shake of the head, her two white plaits swinging. “You yourself are the one who has raised such a violent objection over the matter. Perhaps,” the woman mused, “if your troubles stem to before your modification of your array, the issue lies with the basic construction your templates share.”

“I will not suffer you to tell me that I am unable to construct the most basic of control and summoning arrays,” Xomni’to said with a growing frown. “Otherwise there’d be no carbuncle here.”

“Sometimes it is best to return to the foundations. Especially when, having exhausted all other available avenues of examination, no soluti- one moment,” the woman said, her expression turning dead serious in an instant. She paused, listening to what Xomni’to assumed was a linkpearl call for several moments, before sighing. “My apologies, sir, but I must take your leave. Best of luck in your endeavours - and perhaps, if we meet again, the two of us may spend extra time discussing the failures of your inflexibility.”

Xomni’to attempted to insult the woman back, but could think of nothing appropriately witty - or appropriate at all, for that matter - and instead sputtered incoherently as she sauntered away, tail flicking back and forth in a manner Xomni’to thought to scream self-satisfaction.

_Inflexible, you say? I think not, you albino ignoramus_ , Xomni’to thought with unceasing frustration. He crumpled up his papers, threw them into a nearby wastebasket, pulled the next book off his ever-growing pile and began anew.  _I’ll show you what arcanima is, you spirit-addled simpleton!_

 

* * *

  
“Oh, Twelve and Nhaama, please be forgivin’ me for my transgressin’ ‘gainst you,” Baatar gurgled pitifully as she slumped against the bathroom wall.

“The gods’ve forgiven y’already,” Striped Lily said, crossing her arms as she watched Baatar and T’thoruma finish another round of vomiting. “If they’d be wantin’ t’punish the two’ve ye, they’d not have put a flush-toilet in this bathing-room.”

“I’ll never touch drink again in m’life,” T’thoruma moaned, propping herself on the toilet bowl.

“If I had a ten-gil every time one’ve ye’s said as much, I’d be the Twelve-damned Sultana,” Striped Lily said, rolling her eyes. “How’s the two’ve you even got anythin’ left to be throwin’ up? I’ll not know what time the two’ve ye stumbled into bed, but when I awoke at six in the mornin’ the two’ve ye were sound asleep. It’s _seven in the bleedin’ evenin’_ , you louts.”

“Ototo came through while you was out,” Baatar said, groaning as she rubbed at her stomach. “I gots her to be bringin’ us a snack.”

“Aye, ‘n what sorta snack did you two eat? The way the two’ve ye’ll be hurlin’, I’ll guess it weren’t plain bread ‘n soups.”

“Bread’n’soup, aye, plain as day,” T’throuma said uneasily, looking as though she were going to vomit again. She breathed deeply, her pink tail thumping against the floor for several moments, before sighing in relief and getting to her feet and leaning against the wall.

“Really,” Striped Lily replied with a raised eyebrow.

Silence, for a few seconds.

“Twelve above, I might’ve asked for some small beer,” Baatar admitted. “Now - oi, let me finish, not regular beer or spirits or the like, small beer, I tells you. Safe enough fer children to be drinkin’, it is!”

“Aye, and I’ll wager that tiny drop of alcohol touched your stomachs and set’em right back to hurlin’, didn’t they,” Stripled Lily muttered, rolling her eyes. “Come on, are the two’ve ye gettin’ upright, or do I have to be carryin’ ye down the stairs?”

“Piss off! I can walk jus’ fine,” Baatar said, wincing as she got to her feet.

“Good, ‘cause the Cap’n’s due to be meetin’ us any minute downstairs, so follow, an’ make it quick-like.”

Striped Lily waited as Baatarsaikhan and T’thoruma hobbled out of the room; she locked the door behind them, and the three women made their way down the stairs to the Quicksand’s main floor. Most of the Little Kweh’s twenty or so crew were already seated at a cluster of tables; they waved and cheered upon catching sight of the tavern’s newest arrivals.

“They live! Three cheers for our bravest lasses, Baatar and Thoruma,” Ototo shouted, clambering onto the table and jumping as high as her tiny legs would let her. “Hail, slayers of gut-rot and warriors of the hurl!”

The sailors - and the patrons sitting nearest - erupted into laughter, and Baatar grinned as she and Thoruma sat down.

“Oh, git tae fuck, all of ye,” Baatar said, patting Ototo on the back as she sighed and leaned into her chair. “Where’s Xomni’to?”

“Aye, who’s to say,” Momolk sighed wearily. “Prob’ly still buried in books at the ossuary, I’ll wager.”

“Well that’ll not do,” Kokohuse, the crew’s quartermaster said. “Lad’s the best with figures - the cap’ll prob’ly be wantin’ him here to look the books oe’er.”

“Momolk’n’I can be goin’ to look for’em,” Baatar offered. “Can’t be imaginin’ he’ll be doin’ something ‘sides readin’ his books or the like, anyway.”

“Alright, get to’t,” Striped Lily said, nodding. “Try’n get back here quick-like, if ye can.”

“Come on, then, let’s be findin’ our brother dearest,” Momolk said, hopping down from her chair. Baatar followed her out of the tavern, and over to the aetheryte stationed outside the Quicksand; a quick teleport later, the two of them arrived at the Ossuary and made their way up the torch-lit steps to the entrance; the temple entrance was empty save for two tired looking receptionists - a lalafellin female and a hyuran man.

“Ah, greetings,” the lalafellin woman said with a small nod. “Are you two here to see the temple?”

“Nope. There’s a miqo’te fellow we’ll be lookin’ for - white hair, bookish-lookin’ an’ he’s got burns on the right side’ve ‘im?” Baatar asked.

“Oh, Xomni’to?” the woman replied.

“Aye, that’ll be him,” Momolk answered. “He’s needed at a meetin’ quick-like.”

“Ah, of course - I’ll fetch him right away. Please wait here a moment, and I’ll be back shortly.” The lavender-haired woman hopped off her chair and disappeared through a set of doors behind the reception desk; a few minutes later she returned with a frazzled, seething Xomni’to who was muttering under his breath and still reading off a piece of parchment.

“Shite,” Momolk whispered. “I’ve not seen him this mad in years.”

“Wonder what’s wriggled up his arse,” Baatar mused. “Oi, Xomni, you’ll be needed back at the Quicksand - the cap’n’s on ‘is way back.”

Xomni’to muttered something, frowned, then folded his parchment and stuffed it into his bookbag. “Yayake, thank you for allowing me access to your library.”

“My pleasure, good sir,” Yayake replied with a small curtsey. “Your - the driven nature of your pursuits provided no shortage of entertainment for the guildmaster, I must say. You’ll be welcome back here any time.”

“Thanks,” Xomni’to said with a nod, before joining Baatar and Momolk as they made their way outside. “So? How’ll your days have been?”

“Later,” Baatar replied, clapping him on the back. “Everythin’ goin’ alright? You look as mad as I’ve ever seen ye.”

“Stupid, sodding - never you mind. Just a thing with my magics,” Xomni’to grunted, staring off into the distance. “Rightly it’ll sort itself out. Then you’ll see.”

“I don’t follow,” Baatar said, cocking her head to one side.

“Ah, leave’im be,” Momolk noted. “An’ besides, I think I’ve a better story than whatever sprinted up his arse.”

“That so?”

“Aye,” Momolk said, grinning. “Aye, I do. But it’ll wait ‘til we’re with th’others - too good, it’ll be, to waste in present company.”

“I’ll hold ye to’t,” Baatar said thoughtfully.

The three of them walked up to the aetheryte, teleported back to the Quicksand and entered the tavern; Baatar noticed that Captain Pfarberk and Arnar were both just sitting down, having entered the establishment from a side entrance. The captain waved them over, and once the three of them were seated Pfarberk motioned for quiet.

“Alright, you lot, vacation’s over,” Pfarberk said with a huge grin. “We’ve got work the likes’a which would make a sailor piss hisself - and ‘fore the Calamity, you ken? Thanks t’some wily wording from Arnar, here, we’ve got a whole load’a shippin’ to be doin’ - all the way t’Gridania!”

Pfarberk’s announcement was met with whistles and cheers; he waved them back into quiet a few moments later. “Anyhows, the plan’s as simple as she goes,” he said, pulling a map of Eorzea and her surrounding waters from a pouch on his belt. “So, we’ll be in Ul’dah at the moment. Tomorrow, ‘fore the sun’ll be risin’, we’ll be returnin’ back to Vesper Bay with cargo trains a-plenty. It’ll be a full load, and we’ll be haulin’ the stuff all the way to the end of the Rothlyt Sound. From there we drop anchor, bring our cargo ashore and travel oe’erland t’Gridania. Client’s already lined us up a buyer - and we’ll be making plenty-a-gil for that run alone - but it gets better, it does! Then we’ll be takin’ Gridanian goods back with us to Vesper, trade those goods for Ul’dahn cargo, and finally we’ll be returnin’ to jolly Limsa with holds full of goods to be sellin’ and gil to be spendin’. How’s that, eh?”

Pfarberk’s proclamation was meet with cheers all around, and the roegadyn captain pounded the table in obvious glee.

“Too right, mates! Now then - first round is on me!”  
 


	6. Auri

**7TH SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON**  
**YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA**  
 **Banks of the Rothlyt Sound, Downstream from the Hawthorne Hut**  
  
  
The Little Kweh spent three days sailing along the coast of Eorzea, leaving the sandy shores of Ul’dahn waters for the forested coastlines of Gridanian territory; on the morning of the third day, the sailors carefully navigated their schooner into the mouth of the Rothlyt Sound, docking their boat on a small pier which lay a half-bell by foot away from the closest settlement, the Hawthorne Hut.  
  
“Anchor’s dropped!”  
  
“Brails haled!”  
  
“Winch the ramp! Together now - heave! Haul! Heave! Haul!”  
  
“The ramp’s down! Welcome to Gridania, mates!”  
  
“So this’ll be the grasslands of Gridania, eh?” Baatarsaikhan said with crossed arms, surveying the lush, dense forest around the river as the ship’s crew began to shift cargo out of the hold and up to the deck. “Smells queer.”  
  
“That’ll be the local flowers an’ the like,” Arnar said, wiping sweat from his brow.  
  
“Still smells odd t’me.”  
  
“Better to spendin’ your time haulin’ crates than bellyachin’ ‘bout the smells,” Captain Pfarberk shouted as he, Kokohuse and Xomni’to descended the ramp. The three of them were met by a handful of bored-looking workers; unlike the makeshift piers at Vesper Bay, the Little Kweh wasn’t the only boat docked, though by any account the Little Kweh dwarfed the smaller fishing-boats and trade-canoes which sat beside it. Their conversation lasted less than five minutes, and soon they returned to the boat. “Well, there’ll be no time to waste,” Pfarberk shouted, motioning for the deckhands to pause their work. Them dockmen pearled the second they saw our masts - carts’ll be here any minute now, an’ once we’re in Gridania we’ll be tradin’ our goods and headin’ straight back ‘ere as fast as we can be.”  
  
“Should we be stayin’ on the boat, then?” Momolk said from atop a crate of potions. “If our schedule’s tight, that is.”  
  
Pfarberk shrugged. “Eh? I’ll not say you can’t be comin’, but it’ll not be a vacation like Ul’dah were. I’d say we’ll be spendin’...four, five bells in town at the mostest, an’ prob’ly less if things go rightly. Still, you lot’re free to hitch a ride’n the carts if it pleases ye.”  
  
“Ah, piss, I’ve no want to be goin’ ashore jus’ to be headed back out,” T’thoruma said with a scowl. “Ye can count me out.” Several other sailors nodded and made their assent clear; Pfarberk nodded.  
  
“Well you lot can be watchin’ the boat, then. Anyhows, let’s not be keepin’ the carts a-waitin’ - unload them crates, quick-like,” he said, rolling up his sleeves and joining the crew. In short order the ship’s cargo was piled ashore in neat stacks, and the sailors were halfway into a game of dice when a series of chocobo-carts pulled into view from down the forested road. In short order the sailors loaded their cargo onto the convoy’s vehicles, hopped aboard wherever space remained and settled in for the ride.  
  
“How long to Gridania?” Xomni’to asked the Elezen cart-driver, as the convoy set off up the dirt roads.  
  
“Two bells, at the most,” the driver replied, not looking back. “Less normally, but even with the waystations at the Hawthorne Hut mostly repaired the roads are in poor condition.”  
  
“Ah,” Baatar said, peeking above the cargo crates to look up the road. “And Gridania? How’ll your city be doin’ with repairs an’ the like?”  
  
“Alright,” the driver said, sighing. “I was told your ship came from Ul’dah?”  
  
“Limsa’ll be our origin, but we did stop a few suns in the Vesper Bay,” Momolk explained.  
  
“The Seedseer did a speech - she said all the cities of Eorzea had suffered from the Calamity,” the driver noted. “Said rebuilding the cities themselves, let alone the trade routes overland, would take some time.”  
  
“Lookin’ at Ul’dah, you’d ken that’d be a miser’s way of lookin’ at things,” Baatar said, shrugging. “Their ‘ryte’s up, an’ most the city looks as shining as I were told it was ‘fore the Calamity hit.”  
  
“I suppose when your city has enough gil to pave the streets with gold,” the driver snorted, “something as trifling as recovering from the Calamity poses no problem, eh?” He sighed again, then leaned back to look at the sailors; his skin was well-tanned, and one of his pointed ears flexed slightly as he took in the sailors’ faces. “Saimaut’s the name - and, no offense, don’t you look like the saltiest bunch of sailors I’ve seen in a long while.”  
  
“That meant to be an insult?” Xomni’to asked, an eyebrow raised. “Because if it is, we’ll be taking it as a compliment.”  
  
“No, not an insult,” Saimaut said, waving a hand in defence. “Truthfully when Ser Hawthorne - he’ll be the one who gave his name to the sound and the waystation - said we’d be getting sailors, all us workers were surprised. Gridania’s aetheryte is down, too, and when news of sailors coming reached our ears we thought you’d be Ul’dahns, frankly.”  
  
“No such luck, I’m ‘fraid,” Baatar replied with a grin. “Just a bunch of scoundrels from the land of pirates and cutpurses.”  
  
“Ha! Well said, well said. Well, you’ll not find any trouble or ire outside the city,” Saimaut said, “but if any’ve the locals get snippy with you - whether that’s because you’ve a moonkeeper with you, or because you’re from Limsa, or anything, pay them no mind. The Elementals have been...difficult since the Calamity, and on top of everything else the mood’s not a nice one within the town.”  
  
“Aye? I’ve heard of the forest-kin being...capricious-like,” Momolk said thoughtfully, “but ne’er that Gridania’ll be a mean place. Peacekeepers of the forest, like.”  
  
“Well, in good times, yes,” Saimaut replied, nodding. “But things have been tough. City’s labour’s been stretched thin, betwixt culling beasts from the roads and fixing the damages suffered. Food’s not been rationed, not yet, but it’s as thin as it could be without the Adders saying so. And the moonkeepers - not all of them, aye,” Saimaut said, glancing at Xomni’to, “but the ones who’ll be doing poaching and the such against the laws - it’s not been good with them since the Calamity.”  
  
“Well they’ll not be my people,” Xomni’to replied sourly. “Born... well, no clue where I was born, but I was raised in Limsa - who’ll be saying I’m one of those poachers?”  
  
“In better times, people might spare you the bells to listen, maybe. But with things as they are, I’m sure no shortage of irate souls will see you and simply think you a common brigand, or at least the kin of one,” Saimaut said with obvious distaste.  
  
“I’ll not suffer association with criminals,” Xomni’to snapped, before scratching at his head. “Apologies.”  
  
“No need, sir. I understand.”  
  
“And me?” Baatar asked. “Will I be fetchin’ the same anger or suspicions?”  
  
“Ah, hard to say - you’re an Au Ra, right?”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“Well your kind’s not wholly unknown to the city-folk,” Saimaut replied. “Many of your kind passed through several years ago on the way to Ishgard.” He paused, and when he spoke again his tone was low, uncomfortable. “Not many returned.”  
  
“Ishgar -  _right_. Dragonkin, they’ll be thinkin’ us, fodder for their swords.” Baatar hissed, looking fit to prove them right with a tongue of fire at any moment.  
  
“Well I’m no Ishgardian, and Gridania’s not the land of Halone and the sword. But, ah, the city’s always been a...sheltered place under Nophica. Foreign things aren’t a source of trust for the older Gridanians, and they’ll likely be worse with the way things have been going.”  
  
A few minutes passed in silence, with only the rumbling of the cart to keep the travelers company.  
  
“I - don’t let me sour you on the city herself,” Saimaut said at last. “Gridania’s not some cesspool of anger and madmen who’ll be meeting you with knives and torches. But the old guard of the city inform the way of things, and that’s a way that’s as slow-changing as the Elementals themselves.”  
  
“Pissants,” Baatar spat.  
  
“I’ve no word on the matter, not in the public ear. Agreed or not, though, comments like that’ll be likely to rile up the locals,” Saimaut cautioned.  
  
“Let’s not start a city-wide brawl, aye?” Arnar said, patting Baatar on the shoulder. “We’ve less than a sun in the city - I’ll not have us run out the same day jus’ ‘cause a few louts couldn’t hold their tongues against ye.”  
  
Baatar said nothing for a moment, her eyes shining with ill-concealed rage, before she took several calming breaths and visibly deflated.  
  
“Good lass. You might be spoilin’ for a fight, but that’s no reason to be givin’ shot and powder to the folks who’ll be speakin’ ill of ye,” Arnar said approvingly.  
  
“Navigator and the lash,” Baatar snorted defiantly. “If I’ll be here in the future an’ they talk shite ‘bout me or Xomni or anyfolk like that, the shites’ll be alight an’ prayin’ to their spirits for a new set o’ teeth.”  
  
“On yer own time, aye, you can do as you please,” Arnar said with a shrug. “Try that this sun an’ the cap’ll have your arse scrubbin’ the hull the whole year.”  
  
“Ne’er said I’d be doin’ it now, Arnar. Lay off.”  
  
“Just a warnin’ from one friend t’another.”  
  
Baatar opened her mouth, then closed it with an audible click before sulking in silence.  
  
The ride passed in quiet for another half-bell before the convoy rode into a multi-level waystation built into a clearing in the forests; a dozen or so buildings stood, well-lit and well-guarded, and several guards armed with sword, spear and bow stood at the ready in the bridge which cut through the small outpost.  
  
“Morning to you, Saimaut,” a hyuran guard said, approaching the carriage. “Good for the city?”  
  
“That’ll be the case, Sigmund.”  
  
“If you’ve the time, would you mind grabbing a few goods on the way back?” Sigmund asked, passing the driver a sheet of parchment. “We’re low on antidotes again. The boys’ve cleared out a dozen nests this sun already and there’s still more of the blasted diremites skulking around the Hawthorne.”  
  
Saimaut sighed, and nodded. “I’ll do so. You and the others stay safe while I’m out, alright? We’ve lost enough to the forest this past moon.”  
  
“I’ll be sure to pass the word. The roads should be clear, but keep an eye open all the same, friend.” Sigmund waved at a miqo’te guard at the other end of the bridge, who nodded in return and pulled away the gates which barred the way. “Keep well,” Sigmund said, nodding at the sailors.  
  
The cart rumbled over the bridge and off into the forest once again; the ride passed in quiet until, another half-bell or so later, the path began to curve and ascend as the dirt road transitioned into proper gravel. Soon enough the convoy stopped at a massive set of thick-walled and reinforced wooden gates; a handful of archers stood atop small towers in the wall, and the two spear-toting soldiers guarding the gate motioned for Saimaut and the others to stop.  
  
“Halt! You’ll stop and submit to questioning,” one of the guards, a sunseeker miqo’te woman with a head of cropped black hair said.  
  
“Nophica’s blessings upon you this fine day, P'lholnu,” Saimaut said with a nod.  
  
“A - a good day to you too,” P’lhonu muttered. “Who are these people?”  
  
“Sailors from Limsa Lominsa, bearing cargo from Ul’dah,” Saimaut explained. “Ser Hawthorne should have sent word ahead, no?”  
  
“He did, yes,” said the other guard, a balding hyur. “Just a moment - hey! Open the gates,” the man shouted. He turned back to face the carts, a smile upon his face as the gates creaked and slid open. “Enjoy Gridania, visitors.”  
  
“And keep your hands to yourself, paleskin,” P’lhonu hissed, glaring at Xomni’to. “We’ll be watchi - shit!”  
  
“-I’m so sorry,” the hyur said, jamming the butt of his spear into P’lhonu’s foot. “I think my friend here had something foul to eat this morning, and saw fit to take it out on you, good moonkeeper. She’s sorry. Right?”  
  
“Sorry,” P’lhonu growled in a tone that oozed with spite. “I meant nothing by it.”  
  
“See? There’s no trouble. Please, have a wonderful time in Gridania.”  
  
The carts rolled past the gates.  
  
“Good lass,” Arnar said slowly, keeping an eye on Baatar as she withdrew her hand from her tunic. “Good lass. Keep that shiv right where’t’is, please.”  
  
“Should’a seen if the bitch could curse ye with ‘er spear punted right up ‘er,” Baatar growled, glaring daggers back in the direction of the gate. “  
  
“It’s fine,” Xomni’to said quietly. “No need to start anything, sister.”  
  
Baatar grumbled something incoherent and spat off the cart.

 

  
Gridania, Baatar thought, was an odd city.

She wasn’t opposed to the idea of living harmoniously with nature - as little time as she’d spent growing up on the steppe, she still recalled bits and pieces of it, and in those days living out of step with the steppe meant certain death. Even life in Limsa Lominsa had been one which relied on a close relationship with the sea and the farmlands around town.

Gridania, on the other hand, was something else altogether. As the sailors dismounted from the carts and began walking up a long, stone-paved path towards the city’s centre, they passed a massive, multi-storey building which seemed to be built into the sides of the hill they were ascending.

“Huh,” Pfarberk said, scratching his head. “That’ll be the Carline Canopy - like the Drowning Wench back home, or the Quicksand. Bigger than it was las’ I was here, though.”

“How’s it that every other city’s gone an’ rebuilt themselves quicker than Limsa?” Momolk muttered, glancing at the massive wooden structure.

“We’ll not be knowing if Limsa’s rebuilt fast, to be fair,” Xomni’to pointed out. “We’ve not pearled back home and considering that Ul’dah’s the only place with a working aetheryte, we’re probably as fast as any messenger can be going.”

“If ye’ll not be countin’ an airship,” Baatar said, sighing. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’, eh? Flyin’ through th’air like a bird or summat.”

“Well it’s not like you can’t be a-ridin’ one, ‘least back ‘fore the Calamity,” Arnar noted. “You’d be needin’ a pass and it’d cost you a small pile’a gil, but you could do’t all the same.”

“Aye, but that’ll be like takin’ a public coach or the like,” Baatar said, waving her hands in the air. “Imagine pilotin’ one! Flyin’, actual flyin’ and such.”

“Prob’ly be hard as shite,” Momolk said with a snort. “You’s can barely walk’n’talk in the same minute - how’d you be flyin’ a Twelve-damned flyin’ ship?”

“How’d you be….shittin’.... ah, shut it,” Baatar said, rolling her eyes. “And - oh, shite. Looks you spoke too fast, Momolk,” Baatar said as the sailors made their way into what looked to be the centre of the city; a massive crater stood where there once was presumably the central aetheryte station, and several dozen labourers were hard at work trying to mine clumps of corrupted crystal out of the ground.

“Twelve, it’s been more than a month and there’s still cryst in the ground? I wonder if it fused into the soils or something,” Xomni’to mused.

“Well, if ye like ye can ask the locals,” Pfarberk said, turning around. “Alright! Arnar ‘n I’ll be goin’ to meet our man in the Carline - you lot should be ready to leave within, ah, let’s say two, three bells or so. Grab a bite if ye’d like, but don’t go, I dunno, drinkin’ yerselves int’a stupor or somesuch. Clear?”

“Clear,” the sailors responded, breaking off into groups; most followed Captain Pfarberk to the tavern, though a few others simply began wandering off towards the markets, as indicated by a nearby sign.

“So? Anything you’d like to be doing, or would you just be tagging along with us to have some lunch?” Xomni’to asked Momolk.

“Aye, I’ve a mind to be visitin’ the Conjurer’s Guild,” Momolk said, an odd look on her face.

“Everything alright?”

“Aye.”

“Alright, then,” Xomni’to said, frowning as Momolk wandered off.

“Queer,” Baatar muttered uneasily. “Should we be followin’ her?”

“I...maybe not,” Xomni’to said, shaking his head. “She’d say if something were serious. Maybe she’ll be wanting a gift, or something.”

Baatar sighed and kicked at the grass beneath her feet. “Piss.”

“Are you alright?”

“Gridania’s not...settlin’ with me right.”

“Honestly, Baatar. I’m alright. Just because a few people might say unkindly things or treat me with contempt, that’s not reason to curse the entire city.”

“I - shite - I know, I know,” Baatar grumbled. “Y’know me, Xomni. I get the fire in me an’ I don’t like’t when any soul hurls curses at me or me family.”

“I appreciate the feeling. But it’s not necessary. I know you know that already - but sometimes it’s good to hear these things.”

“F - hrm. Ye’ve got the right’ve it,” Baatar replied, sighing again. “Come on. Let’s be findin’ something t’eat.”

The two of them walked towards the markets which lay up a hill and around a corner from the aetheryte’s old location; Baatar did her best not to overthink the passers-by who stared at her and her brother. Most seemed more curious or confused than anything by their presences; only a handful bothered to actually act on their distaste, and of the dozens of people they passed it was a lone Elezen who spat and cursed at them.

“Easy, sister. Easy,” Xomni’to muttered as they walked. “Hand out of your tunic.”

“I wasn’t goin’ for me shiv.”

“Uh-huh.”

Baatar removed her hand from her tunic. “I weren’t goin’ to do nothin’ to ‘im.”

“I thought we were just getting lunch.”

“Maybe a snack’ll put m’anger to rest.”

“You do tend to be less irritable with food in your stomach,” Xomni’to said with a thin, small smile.

“Well I’ll not be apologizin’ for likin’ t’eat.”

“I didn’t say you had to apologize.”

“Ah, well, m’sorry for bein’ irritable an’ the like. Piss, nows that I thinks it, what’s good t’eat in Gridania?” Baatar wondered as the two of them entered a long, wooden hall filled with stalls. “Fruits? Greens? T’be honest we’ve had precious little’ve either.” Xomni’to led Baatar over to a nearby stall; an Elezen woman was tending to a small stove in the back of the stall, and Chanteloup’s Fine Foods was engraved in delicate hand in the wooden sign above the stall’s front.

“Hello there,” Xomni’to called out. “We’re sailors from L-”

“-I don’t serve your kind, moonkeeper brigand,” the woman hissed, barely sparing a glance at Xomni’to. “Plenty of other vendors will debase themselves to take your gil. I’ll not. Leave.”

“Now why’ll you be assumin’ m’brother’s a thief?” Baatar asked as calmly as she could. “We’re sailors from Limsa - we’ve done nothin’ like poachin’ or the like.”

“That so?” the woman said, turning around to glare at the duo. “Well you’ve got the accents, at least.”

“Aye,” Baatar replied, nodding.

“And what’s a dragonkin like you doing as a sailor in Limsa?”

“Dr - I’m not dragonkin. Xaela, I’ll be. Auri.”

“You know what I mean,” the woman said, her tone flat.

“What, you’ve not heard of boats? Me’n m’family, we sailed ‘cross the sea to be in Eorzea. T’get ‘way from the Garleans.”

The woman’s expression softened slightly, and she stared at the unlikely pair for a long while in silence before sighing and passing along a wooden board across the counter of her stall. “Menu’s here.”

“Thanks t’ye, miss,” Baatar said with a nod, taking the menu. She watched as the vendor returned to her stove, then took a few steps away to read the menu with Xomni’to.

“I’m impressed,” Xomni’to said with genuine surprise. “For a minute I was thinking you’d be putting your hand back in your tunic.”

“Took a bit of work, aye. But...I did some thinkin’ ‘long the lines of what Saimaut’ll be sayin’. Mind, anyone goes farther than testin’ the waters and I’ll still be rippin’ their heads off.” Baatar shrugged. “I jus’ want me damn lunch, is all.”

“Fair,” Xomni’to replied. He stood next to Baatar and the two of them scanned the board; Baatar frowned as she scanned it.

“The feck’s a tar-tine?” Baatar muttered.

“It’s an open sandwich,” Xomni’to explained.

“So it’s a sandwich, all normal-like?”

“Aye, but it’s served without putting the two breads together.”

“What’ll the point’a that be, then?”

“What? You’ve had bread with things on it before. It’s just two slices, each one with something on it.”

“Aye, but that’s no sandwich, then,” Baatar said, scowling. “That’ll be breads.”

“Okay, but you can split a sandwich in two.”

“Aye.”

“And then you could eat that sandwich’s parts individually.”

“Aye.”

“So that’s an open sandwich.”

“Like piss it is,” Baatar replied, shaking her head. “That’ll be breads.”

“Twelve, this isn’t alchemy, Baatar.”

“No, it’s food, which’ll rightly be jus’ as complex an’ important. Forget yer tar-tine, what’s a cree-pee?”

“Crepe?”

“Sure.”

“Like a thin pancake - you know the pancakes we have in Limsa? It’s like that, but much thinner - you can roll’em up, put things in’em. See, you can get it with butter, sugar, lemon juice and the like.”

“I’ll jus’ take the pork sausages on a stick. Should be gettin’ a crepe for Momo, though.”

“Will do. Shall I be paying?”

“I’ll buys you a drink next time.”

“Fair enough.”

“Miss - are you Chanteloup?” Xomni’to asked.

“Yes, I am,” the woman replied. “Are you ready to order?”

“We are,” Xomni’to answered, handing back the board. “An open sandwich special, two regular crepes and two pork sausages, please.”

“Three pork sausages, more like.”

“Three sausages, my mistake.”

“I - of course,” Chanteloup replied, nodding. “That’ll be two hundred gil.” Xomni’to fished his coinpurse out of his satchel, counted out the coins and passed them along; Chanteloup took the coins and fiddled with her long hair as she counted them twice, before sliding them behind the counter. “It’ll be a few minutes.”

“That’s no problem.”

“You can wait on the stools if you’d like.”

“Thanks.” Xomni’to pulled up a chair and sat down, sighing. “I was willing to pay for two sausages, th - Baatar?” Xomni’to looked around, realizing suddenly that Baatar wasn’t next to him; he got back up, stood on his toes and looked around, scanning the crowds of the market for Baatar’s purple hair and horns when he saw her far in the distance, running after someone or something at a full sprint. “Miss Chanteloup, I’m sorry - my sister - I’ll be back!”

“Your sis - well your food’ll be here whenever you decide to come back,” Chanteloup said, an eyebrow raised as Xomni’to bolted into the crowds. “What a queer bunch those two were, Chanteloup said with a frown.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Listen. You’ve got to take it easy on yourself, Cherantai,” Valére Hérisson said as the two sat down just outside the market’s northernmost entrance on a bench together. “Trust me. I may not be much older than you, but I’ve seen far more combat, I’d wager.”

“Shove off,” Cherantai Borlaaq said between mouthfuls of fish pie. “I’ll not have an Ishgardian-”

“-an exiled Ishgardian-”

“-telling me the meaning of temperance in combat,” Cherantai finished. “The guildmaster trains every day. Why can I not do the same?”

“Because you don’t seem to understand the difference between training, which is testing your body’s limits, and danger, which is pushing beyond your limits every minute of the day.”

“I’m not in danger now, am I?”

“You get what I’m saying.”

“I do, and I’m telling you to shove off. If you’d like I can be less polite about it.”

“I - oh, come on, I’m just trying to help you,” the Elezen said, sighing as he rubbed at his chin.

“I didn’t ask for your help, Val. I don’t tell you how to handle a blade, and you don’t instruct me in spear-fighting, s - wait. Did Ywain put you up to this?” The Xaela woman glared at Valére. “He did, didn’t he! The bastard!”

“Now look, Cherantai, the- oh, Halone’s grace,” Valére said, his voice dropping to a whisper and his expression softening.

“What? Couerl got your tongue?” Cherantai snapped. “Wh-”

“- _egch sain baina uu_ ,” came a woman’s voice from behind the two, low, deep and wavering.

“No,” Cherantai whispered, snapping around. “It can’t be.”

Two Xaela women stared at one another.

 

One fair-skinned, the other pale blue.

One black-haired, the other purple.

Both with black horns curling forward.

 

“ _Ene ni baij bolokhgüi,_ ” Cherantai said, stepping forward slowly and taking the newcomer’s hands in her own. “ _Ene ni yaaj bolokh ve? Ta kherkhen amid üldsen be? Büleglel sain uu?_ ”

“I….I think you’ll be mistakin’ me for another one’ve us,” the woman said, switching to Eorzean with a thick Lominsan accent. “An’ truth be told my auri is...it’s not so good these days,” she continued, holding back a sniffle. “There’s...there’s all but none to be speakin’ it to. Not anymore.”

“Nhaama protect you, sister. I...your Eorzean, it...it’s not Gridanian,” Cherantai muttered. “So...you’ll...you’ll not be the of the ones who went to Ishgard?”

“No,” the woman said. “I...I only lived on the steppe ‘til my fourth year. Been here,” she said, gesturing above her head, “for fourteen years since.”

“Then...then...gods damnit,” Cherantai said, tears beginning to roll down her face. “Gods DAMN IT ALL! And I, I’d so hoped another one of you’d survived, and...no, no, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping tears from her face. “I’m sorry. It’s not...I’ve no right to be upset at you.”

“I...sorry. I jus’ saw another one’ve...our kind, an’ I had...I had to see,” the woman said, sighing and taking several deep breaths. She let go of Cherentai’s hands, stepped forward and the two women clasped arms around each others’ sides, before touching cheeks. “Sister, are you well’n peaceful?”

“I...I am well, sister, well enough. And you? Are you well and peaceful?” Cherantai said, echoing the greeting.

“I am. Sorry I’ll not be knowin’ your circumstance, but just to be seein’ another woman o’the steppe - my heart sings for ye.” The woman stepped back, put her hands together and bowed deeply. “Baatarsaikhan of the Kha, daughter of Chinjaal and Gonbaatar, second-daughter of Idertuuya.”

Cherantai wiped more tears from her face on the sleeves of her robe, stepped back a pace and echoed the bow. “Cherantai of the Borlaaq, daughter of Limbe and Nairagch. And this sorry Elezen is Valére Hérisson,” she said, gesturing to the tall, lanky, grey-haired man who towered over them both.

“Lady Kha, a pleasure to meet you,” Valére said with a deep bow. “Though I do not know you personally, I do know that for any Xaela to be here in Eorzea belies a great deal of struggle. Whatever you have suffered - before or after the Calamity - you have my condolences.”

“No need. Not like you’s the one who killed me kin. That’d be the Garleans and their moon and their dragon and the like,” Baatar hissed, her expression darkening for a moment. “May...could I be sharin’ yer seat, Cherantai?”

“O - of course. Please, I would be happy for you to join us,” Cherantai said, gesturing at the bench.

“Baatar! The - Twelve above, you...you found another Xaela?” Xomni’to said, coming to a halt, having found his sister.

“Oh, shite, I - sorry, this’ll be Xomni’to Molkoh,” Baatar said, jerking her head at the white-haired miqo’te. “He’ll be me brother.”

“Uh, hello,” Xomni’to said, bowing slightly. “A pleasure.”

“An’ this’ll be Cherantai an’ Valére,” Baatar continued. “A dock rat an’ a steppe-refugee, aye. You...you mentioned Ishgard, Cherantai?”

Valére looked at the ground, expression grim, and he winced as Cherantai’s tears began flowing again - though this time her expression was one of barely-suppressed fury.

“I did. We - your Kha were not the only one to flee the homeland,” Cherantai explained slowly, grinding out every word from behind clenched teeth. “But I assume your kin took refuge with a Lominsan ship. Ours was bound for Gridania with folk from many clan aboard.”

“It’s a long way from here to Ishgard,” Xomni’to said, frowning as he took a seat on the grass next to the bench. “The way is treacherous. The beasts violent. The clime deadly.”

“So it is. All of those things are true. We - I - many of us were hoping to stay in Gridania. It was not the steppe, yes, but the hunting and living in the forest was close enough. But it was not to be so.”

“They didn’t dare,” Baatar said in a low, venomous tone. “These tree-fuckin’ shites, they drove ye from their land?”

“I - no, I didn’t say that. But we were, ah, politely asked to leave,” Cherantai said with a sad chuckle. “Rather than raise the issue, the decision was made to leave, at least by most. Ul’dah seemed a poor decision - we heard tales from locals of a hot, dusty land, unfit for nomads and city living, the sort that certainly was not for rustic, uneducated steppe-dwellers like ourselves. Limsa Lominsa was too far away. And so Ishgard seemed the next best step. After all, warriors were we all,” Cherantai said with a snort, “and the warriors of Ishgard would always need more soldiers for the Dragonsong War, no?”

“You...you thought they’d take you if you offered arms,” Xomni’to said, his eyes growing wide. “But - oh, gods.”

“Aye. We showed at their gates, tired and cold and hungry and injured from the trek. But we arrived. We asked simply for shelter and the right to serve.”

Cherantai fell silent for a long moment.

“It’s alright, Cherantai. You don’t need to say any more,” Valére said quietly, rubbing her back. “It’s oka-”

“-IT IS NOT OKAY! You - you of all people do NOT get to tell me it is alright! We numbered one hundred and twenty nine at the Steps of Faith. They opened the gates, the let us stay the night just within the city walls, fed us soup and tea and rolled out tents. We were HOME! We were SAFE! And do you know what they did, Baatarsaikhan? They woke us in the middle of the night.” She paused, seething, fists clenching and unclenching, her teeth audibly grinding and tears pouring from her face into the grass below.

“They...they cut you down as you rested,” Baatar whispered, shaking her head.

“No. Worse. They said to us, ‘Ishgard has not the provision to spare all of you, dragonkin. We shall take ten of your number, and those ten shall be watched and studied so we may learn of your heretical ways.’ Do you understand? They made us CHOSE who would go with them. My - my - my friend, my good, closest, honourable friend, Ganzorig, he asked, if we left those ten, would we be free to leave? And they said yes! THEY GAVE THEIR WORD! So we picked the children who looked strongest. We picked the few adults who could go no further. There was no debate. There was no fighting. We sacrificed ourselves so the others would live, and then we gathered what little we had - the clothes on our backs, the food we’d saved from the dinners - and left, ready to return to Gridania to seek better fortunes.”

Valére cradled his head in his hands.

“They waited until we were halfway across the Steps of Faith. In the middle. Between every guard post. And they SLAUGHTERED US! They killed and they killed and they KILLED my friends and my family and my - they didn’t stop with arrows or magic, Baatar. Do you know what they use to kill dragons in Ishgard? They have these….these dragonkillers, these cannons which fire lances so large it takes three men to winch the damn things. There was nothing left, Baatar. Nothing. No bodies to mourn. People reduced to meat and smears on the ground.”

Baatar cursed under her breath, did everything in her power not to cry and could not stop herself.

“Curse your people, Valére,” Baatar spat. “I’ll be killin’ a hundred of ‘em for e-”

“-damn you, Baatarsaikhan, I don’t want revenge, I just want an apology! I want to know WHY they did it! Enough slaughter! Enough! I’d not visit the hells upon their women and men and children like they did us,” Cherantai shouted, eyes wild and frantic. “I’ll not be like them! I’ll not become one of them! And neither should you, Nhaama keep you. We’re not beasts. Not murderers. Not like them.”

Baatar seethed.

 

Silence.

 

“Gods damnit, if I visited vengeance upon Ishgard there’d not be a single soul left alive,” Cherantai whispered. “Believe me. No soul wants vengeance more than I. We were one hundred and seventy on the ship. One hundred twenty nine at the Steps. When the blood and the fire cleared, Baatar, we were twenty. And - and - and then, and then, so little food and so tired and so injured were we, by the time we returned to Gridania, do you know how many of us there were, there are now?”

Baatar said nothing, could not say anything. She and Xomni’to and Valére shook their heads in silence.

“Four, Baatarsaikhan. Four. There are  _four_  of us left.”

“How?” Baatar nearly screamed. “How can ye not be needin’ to kill them all?”

“What point is there? No amount of Ishgardian blood is going to return the dead, Baatarsaikhan,” Cherantai said, her tone resigned and strained.

“So? Who’s to be carin’ if it brings anyone back? Vengeance,” Baatar hissed. “The Dusk Mother demands’t to bring yer honour back.”

“Honour? Do not speak of honour to me. Curse honour. I could kill every Ishgardian that breathes the same air I do and I would be no more at peace.”

“Who’s to say violence won’t be lettin’ you rest easy?”

“I do.”

“Then - how - you have to do somethin’, or the souls’ve the dead’ll be hauntin’ ye to the hells’n back, Cheran!”

“I made my decision. I,” Cherantai said with fire and purpose, “am going to become a dragoon. Not any dragoon. I am going to be the best gods-damned dragoon there ever was and ever will be. They will sing praises of my name, Baatarsaikhan. I am going to be Cherantai Borlaaq, Azure Dragoon of Ishgard and First of Her Name. I am going to be a better Ishgardian than any who dares to meet my gaze. The souls of the dead will rest easy, knowing that in my honour of action I will - I have - I will shame every of Ishgard’s sons and daughters who thought that shooting my kin and kith in the back was the right thing to do.”

 

A long silence. Minutes passed.

 

“You’re a stronger woman than I,” Baatar said simply, shaking her head. “I - I couldn’t be doin’ such a thing. I - my - Nhaama bless you, sister Cherantai. I’ll be prayin’ for ye.”

“Nhaama bless you too, sister Baatarsaikhan. Whatever you’ve lost, never sink to the depths of such sin as vengeance like you speak of. We are better than that,” Cherantai whispered. “We have to be.”

“I - I - alright.” Baatar did not meet Cherantai’s gaze, staring instead at the blue sky. “You...you could come with me’n the other sailors. Forget yer dragoonin’ and Ishgard altogether. Me...me’n me mum and me uncle and me cousin, we’ll be the only auri there’ll be in Limsa. Family.”

“I cannot,” Cherantai said with a sad, tear-soaked smile. “My life is forfeit. Cherantai, who longs for a mate and children and peace and a simple life is no more. I have my lance and only my lance. My way is clear. My path is chosen. I - I appreciate the offer, know what it must mean to you to say such a thing, sister. But I cannot.”

“Can...if...if y’ever come to Limsa, you ask for the Kha, and we’ll give y’everthing we can be givin’ ye. Understand?”

“I do.”

The two women embraced one another for a long, long time.

“Nhaama and the Twelve keep you, Cherantai of the Borlaaq. May they be keepin’ you safe and whole. If I’ll not be seein’ y’again, I want to be a-hearin’ about the dragonkin lady who climbed Ishgard an’ became their lance, y’hear? Don’t ye dare be dyin’, not ‘til you’ve done yourself right,” Baatarsaikhan said, staring Cherantai in the eyes.

“And the same to you, whatever it is you choose, Baatarsaikhan of the Kha. Nhaama and the Twelve keep you whole and hale, and your kin, too.”

Baatar arose unsteadily from her seat, nodded at Xomni’to. “Come on. Let’s be a-goin’ now.”

“Ju - we’re just -”

“-I said we’ll be goin’, Xomni’to.”

“O - of course. Goodbye, Cherantai,” Xomni’to said, looking between his sister, Cherantai and Valére with a bewildered expression.

“Bayartai, sister Baatarsaikhan,” Cherantai said, looking up.

“Bayartai, sister Cherantai.”

Xomni’to trailed behind Baatar for a few moments until they were back in the markets before pulling her aside, expression one of bewilderment. “Look, it’s not my place maybe, but you’re just going to let her go?”

“Nothin’ I can be doin’ to change her mind,” Baatarsaikhan said angrily, wiping a few tears away from her face. “There’s a woman who’s goin’ to be doin’ as she says, or she’ll be dead. There’ll be no other way for’er.”

“I - Twelve.”

“Aye.”

Neither said anything as they returned to Chanteloup’s stall; the Elezen cook was about to snap at them for being late to return when she saw Baatar’s expression.

“Here’s your food,” Chanteloup said quietly. “A - and here’s an extra few pies.”

“Why’ll you be givin’ us handouts, eh?” Baatar snapped. “Do I look the sorry lass t’ye? That it?”

“Baatar-”

“-I don’t know either of you, and I’m sorry if I was...untoward at first. Consider this an apology,” Chanteloup said uncomfortably.

Xomni’to cut his sister off before she could say anything, taking the food and nodding. “Thanks. We appreciate it,” he said, before turning and leaving.

They were the last to return to the Carline Canopy; the sailors cheered upon their return, stopping when they saw the grim look on Baatar’s face.

“Twelve,” Pfarberk hissed. “What’d they do t’ye? Who’s I goin’ to have to be breakin’?”

“Nobody,” Baatar said walking over to Momolk and pulling her into a hug. “Gods damn it all, nobody.”

 

 

* * *

 

**10TH SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
** YEAR 0 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Vesper Bay

 

“Where’n the hells is this arsehole the cap’n’s supposed t’be meetin’?” Baatar grumbled, drinking out of her canteen with the other sailors on the Little Kweh’s quarterdeck. “Three bells late, the bastard is. Why, we could’a gone to Miss Momodi’s ‘n had a drink or three by now!”

“Maybe the cap’n’s not wantin’ a repeat o’ the las’ time you were in the tavern here,” Striped Lily pointed out.

“Ah, pardon? ‘You?’ If I recalls it right there were a roegadyn woman who paid a man to strip down to ‘is nakedness with all ‘is junk hangin’ out an whatnot,” Baatar noted dryly.

“Wait, did we do that?” Momolk asked, looking thoughtful. “Alls I know is we got a man to remove ‘is shirt, aye, but then none of us recalls much beyond. An’ Momodi ne’er said what happened, neither.”

“You lot really are a bunch of degenerates,” Kokohuse said with a grin.

“Don’t you start, y’old shite,” Thoruma shouted. “I’ve seen ye! You’ll be oglin’ every lass that passes you by! Oh, no, I’m just a short lalafell, pay no mind - and then your eyes’ll be fallin’ outta yer head, tryin’ t’look at folkses arses!”

“Sure, if you’ll be thinking of it that-a-way,” Kokohuse replied, shrugging. “But at least I’ll not be bribing menfolk to strip naked with booze.”

“Well we ne’er did figure if that were real or not,” Baatar said, rubbing her horns. “Who’s to say one’ve us didn’t just dream the thing, and now we all wants it to be true, so we says it is?”

“Aye, but if there’s no persons who’ll be sayin’ it’s not the case, why, it might’s’well be the truth, eh?” Momolk mused.

“That’s...not flawless logic,” Xomni’to said, frowning.

“Never said it was.”

“An - hold up,” Xomni’to continued. “You never did say what you did at the Conjurer’s Guild in Gridania.”

“Well I was ‘bout to get to tellin’ that, then Baatar came in and did the whole horrible storytellin’ what made the half of us into sobbin’ wrecks an’ the like,” Momolk said, shrugging. “Then none of you’s asked ‘bout it!”

“Well none of us were a-stoppin’ ye from tellin’ it,” Arnar interjected.

“I - well piss off, it’s not a good story neither,” Momolk said, sighing. “All I got were a single parchment about conjury at its most basics. Oho, you swarthy, salty idiot sailor, says the deskman, conjury’s ‘bout healin’ folks! Tosspot, I knew that!”

“Aye. Gridania’s a real load’a’shite,” Ototo noted with distaste, spitting on the deck.

“You jus’ say that ‘cause the guards’n ye’re on bad terms,” Thoruma said.

“Hold on, you’re on bad terms with the Gridanian law?” Xomni’to said, raising an eyebrow. “How’s a lalafellin sailor-woman piss the law off enough to be on bad terms with the guards of a place?”

“Y’ever done a shite, like, a real bad one, that’ll stink up a place real awful-like fer ages?” Ototo said, grinning madly.

“We know the idea,” Arnar said, scowling. “You do’t every other sun and the hold reeks for bells.”

“Up yours, dick’ead. Anyhows, once I were real drunk, and I couldn’t find me way back to th’inn, so I dropped me trous and did the dirty in th’street.”

“You really are a bunch of degenerates,” Kokohuse repeated.

“Oi! I didn’t even get to the bes’ part! Then, I gots all scared-like with the guards chasin’ me, and they had to be chasin’ me ‘round the whole city with me pants down ‘fore I passed out. An’ the poor sod who caught me - hehe, he gots the shite on ‘im!”

“You...Twelve. That’s actually disgusting,” Xomni’to said, retching slightly.

“Aye, I’m inclined to be agreein’,” Baatar said, scowling at Ototo. “Who does a dump in th’streets? I mean, really?”

“Since when’ve you gotten all high’n’mighty? Why, Arnar, why don’t I be tellin’ the story ‘bout you’n that lass we-”

“-wow, would you look’t that, it’s Captain Pfarberk!” Arnar said, looking unbelievably relieved.

“Oho,” Momolk said, grinning. “You’ll not be gettin’ outta this’n, Arnar.”

“Aha, very funny. Twelve, lookit, what’s that?” Arnar said, pointing; off in the distance, Pfarberk and Momodi were visible on a draft carriage piled high with cargo; flanking him, however, were nearly a dozen heavily armed soldiers in full plate, riding chocobos in gleaming gold-trimmed barding. The group pulled in; as Momodi and Pfarberk got off their cart, Baatar noticed a third lalafell with them - a white-haired man wearing a gold-brimmed cap and an expensive-looking embroidered coat.

“Who the piss is that?” Momolk asked.

“Our man in Ul’dah, who’ll be doin’ us the tradin’,” Arnar said. “Teledji Adeledji’ll be his name - a real friendly sorta man. Owns a big casino, some gamblin’ halls, does shippin’ an the like, too.”

“Underselling it slightly,” Xomni’to said with a low whistle. “He’s Syndicate. Top six in Ul’dah, though if I recall he’s at the bottom.”

“Man with the sixth biggest pile’a gil in Ul’dah’s still richer than most folk’ll dream of, though,” Baatar noted. “He don’t look much from ‘ere, I’ll say.”

“Don’t fuck wi’ a man who’s enough gil to be swimmin’ in,” Thoruma muttered.

“Or ta crush every bone in your body,” Arnar nodded in solemn agreement.

“Well I’s not goin’ down there to be fistfightin’ him or the like,” Baatar replied. “Just sayin’, if I did do that, I’d beat his arse into the dirt.”

Pfarberk and Teledji spoke for several minutes before, finally, Teledji bowed slightly, waved at the Little Kweh and re-mounted his own chocobo; his guards escorted him off into the distance. Pfarberk motioned for the cart driver to pull the wagons closer to the boat, and both he and Momolk jogged up the ship’s ramp.

“Aye, we’re back! Got ourselves a full shipment ‘o Uldah’n goods - and at cheap, I’ll say,” Pfarberk said proudly. “Also, Miss Momodi’s come along - some’a you louts have gifts from’er, apparently.”

“And a fine day to all of you,” Momodi said with a curtsey after setting down a large backpack. “Now, Pfarberk’s done me a solid favour or two, fetching me several crates at a discount and with advance pay - so, t’at least repay the feeling, I brought gifts!” The lalafellin woman scuttled around to the side of her bulging backpack and unfastened the top; she began by pulling out a massive bottle. “Wine from the cellars of a, ah, certain client o’ mine. 1501 vintage, it is - so don’t go chugging it like it’s grog or the like, alright? And I’ve also got some cash for ye - a bit of the tips I’ve been makin’ with some’ve the spirits you brought from Lominsan shores. A hundred gil for all of you - and, last but not least, a special gift for one Momolk Molkoh, from Lady Lilira herself!”

“I TOLD YOU,” Momolk shouted, waving her arms around. “All you’s thought I was lyin’ to ye ‘bout meetin’ the gods-damned Sultana herself, and look, ye shites!”

“Well nobody’s saying that she’s the Sultana,” Momodi said with a smirk. “But she is powerful. Very, very high up in the Sultanate.” Momodi extracted a heavily-wrapped box, and slide it over to Momolk. “I’m told there are reagents and a ‘yeast of certain renown’ within, protected by metal and kept stable by crushed ice crystal.”

“Wait,” Baatar said, glancing between the box, Momolk and Momodi. “You - shite, there’s cool-beer yeast in there?”

Momodi shrugged. “The box wasn’t mine t’open, Baatarsaikhan. Ask yer sister.”

“Open the box!” the sailors began shouting. “Open the box!”

“It’s yeasts, you arseholes,” Momolk said, clutching the box like a treasure chest. “Grains! Nothin’ to be seein’! Get ta fuck!”

Momodi smiled, and bowed again. “Well, best of luck to all of you - I hope, if you find yourselves in Ul’dahn waters again, that you will come visit me in the Quicksand.”

“Aye, Miss Momodi,” Pfarberk said proudly. “Good to be doin’ buisness with ye - and we’ll always be stoppin’ in for a drink if we can.”

Momodi grinned, pat Pfarberk’s leg and was halfway towards the ramp when she paused, a thoughtful expression on her face, then broke out into a grin. She motioned for Baatar to come over, then fished a letter out of her tunic.

“Oh, and if you’ll be so kind, do pass this letter along to Baderon,” Momodi said with a wink. “You can read it if it pleases you - Twelve above, with what I’ve written, I’m sure Baderon’s going to be needin’ his ten-fingers to really get the, ehe, full experience of what I’ve described for’im.”

Baatar gagged slightly, taking the letter gingerly, before tossing it into Momodi’s satchel of gifts.

“Alright, get that gift-bag stowed and get to work! We’ve got half the hold to be fillin’ and the sun’s only gettin’ hotter,” Pfarberk shouted as Momodi disappeared down the ramp with a jaunty wave. “Come on! Hurry’t up! Faster we pack is the faster we’ll be home!”

 

 

* * *

  
**Limsa Lominsa**

 

“Well, Miss Minamoto, welcome to Limsa Lominsa,” Captain Carvallain said with a smile. “I trust you’ll not mind that we’ve arrived earlier than expected?”

“No, good captain,” Kanna said with a shake of her head. “I was eminently pleased to find that the winds would be at our backs. If the kami - and your Twelve - smile upon us, I would not besmirch the boon.”

“Well said,” Carvallain said with a grin. “Make yourself comfortable, or feel free to rest belowdecks. We’ll be docked soon enough.”

“Thank you, Captain. I shall remain here, if it pleases you.”

Kanna watched intently as more and more of Limsa Lominsa came into view; her visions had shown a ruined city, on fire and half-submerged; she’d feared that even with the time spent on her journey across the sea that even now the city would still be in ruins. In fairness, much of it still appeared to be so, but massive scaffoldings and supports could be seen all around the city’s superstructure, and the docks which had, in her visions, been destroyed, appeared to have all been completed.

In short order the ship docked, and Kanna happily descended the ramp, falling to her knees at the wondrous feeling of solid ground. Still, she had a mission to carry out, and so she immediately set off, following the signs to head towards the city square. Several passers-by looked at her oddly - not unkindly, but with confusion, as though they recognized her but were unsure of from where. The walk from the docks through the rebuilding streets of Limsa Lominsa to the Aethertye Plaza took about a half-bell, and she ascended a ramp and sighed to see that the Calamity had destroyed the city’s aetheryte station. No less than three dozen artisans were hard at work repairing it; a slim spire of solid, smooth crystal had already been set into a pedestal at the centre of the plaza, and workers all around the area were busy infusing aether into crystal formations and gingerly piecing together components far too intricate and complex for Kanna to recognize.

Undaunted, she approached the nearest authoritative-looking individual, one of the many yellow-coated men bearing arms she’d seen around the city, and bowed when he took notice of her.

“Can I be helpin’ ye?” the roegadyn yellow-coat asked, cocking his head at Kanna’s bow.

“Greetings to you, good sir. I am a traveler from across the sea, and am in need of information. I assume, given the plethora of individuals who share your uniform, that you are part of the city’s guard?”

“Aye, we’ll be part of the city guard - Yellowjackets, we’ll be called. An’ if ye see a redcoat, ye can ask’em, too - those’ll be Maelstrom, more military than guard, but as kind.”

“Thank you for your assistance, kind sir. Is there a place where a traveler might be able to gain some information about the city and its inhabitants?”

“That’ll depend,” the man said, frowning. “What’ll you be wantin’ t’know? If it’s...diplomatics and the like, the Maelstrom’s your best bet. Information ‘bout folks, you want the Drownin’ Wench - big tavern topside, can’t miss it. Signs’r everywhere - you go and you see Baderon - he’ll be the barkeep an’ in the adventurer’s guild besides. If there’s somethin’ in this city he don’t know, rightly speaking nobody’ll know’t.”

“I understand. Thank you again for your help,” Kanna said, bowing deeply and setting off for the upper deck of the city. The nearest ramp she could find was still being repaired, and so it took Kanna another ten minutes to figure out how to get up top; once she did, it was easy enough to find the Drowning Wench, a large, open tavern, which was filled with patrons. She walked straight towards the older-looking man who stood behind the central counter - a well-tanned hyur with a well-clipped beard sporting a bandanna with a wave-like pattern woven into it.

“Twelve above - another Au Ra?” the man said, setting down the tankard he was cleaning in genuine shock. “Well I’ll be damned. Never did think I’d be seein’ another of your kind!”

“Anot - my apologies, I’ve not introduced myself. Good sir, would you happen to be Baderon, proprieter of the… etto, Drowning Wench?” Kanna asked, bowing. “My name is Kanna Minamoto.”

“Aye, that’ll be me. Pleased to be meetin’ ye, Kanna,” he replied, scratching at his beard. “Now hold a minute - you’re not like the other ones. Idree and Baatar’ve said as much, and you don’t look the same as’em. Yer horns and yer scales, they’re white. An’ yer skin’s not purple or blue or somesuch. Raen, I think?”

“That is correct, Master Baderon. I am Auri, yes, but the Raen are unlike the ones who live upon the steppe as nomads - those would be the Xaela.”

“Right, right - I recall. So, Miss Minamoto, how can I be helpin’ ye today? A woman don’t cross the whole sea for a beer, or the like.”

“Well, good sir, I am searching for a specific Au Ra of the Xaela tribe. I have….information, as well as a mission, which compels me to search for a Xaela woman, as well as a miqo’te man -”

“-an’, lemme guess, a lalafellin woman?” Baderon finished.

“Why, yes, that is exactly so,” Kanna said, nodding. “How did you know?”

Baderon sighed. “Well, there were ne’er many of the Xaela in Limsa, aye, an’ of the twenty or so folk that showed here many a year before, most were killed in the Calamity.”

“H - yes. Of course. But you say you knew the people I seek?”

Baderon snorted. “Twelve keep me, oh, do I ever. You’ll be wantin’ Momolk and Xomni’to Molkoh, and Baatarsaikhan Kha.”

“Why do you snort in laughter about the Kha? They are simple folk, yes, but theirs is a clan that have conducted themselves uprightly and with pride, as I recall it.”

“Not the Kha, just Baatarsaikhan. An’ that’s ‘cause Baatarsaikhan Kha is a voidsent curse upon the Drowning Wench. Only reason she stopped gettin’ int’a brawls and drinkin’ ‘erself into oblivion every other week is since I said I’d not serve her any longer if she kept it up.”

Kanna blinked.

Her visions had shown a proud, strong, axe-wielding heroine, not a drunken, alcoholic lout who got into tavern brawls.

 

“ _S-souka_. Uh, I see,” Kanna said slowly, nodding. “So, if I wished to speak to this, ah, Baatarsaikhan of the Kha clan, where would I be best served in going to?”

“I...piss,” Baderon muttered, sighing. “I’ll be frank - she, that’ll be Baatar, an’ her would-be-siblin’s, uh, they left Limsa about two moons ago. On a boat. They’re sailors, y’see.”

Kanna blinked again.

Then she frowned.

Her visions had absolutely, one-hundred-percent most certainly shown a heroine and her companions in Limsa Lominsa. There was no doubt of that. But if they’d left the city two entire moons ago…

“Would you happen to know, Master Baderon, where Baatarsaikhan and her companions sailed to?” Kanna asked slowly, dreading the answer.

“I think they were off to Ul’dah, eventually. Frankly I’ll not be certain - you’d best be askin’ Baatar’s mum fer that. You’ll want to be seein’ a lady by the name of Idertuuya Kha - she’ll be at the Maelstrom Headquarters, jus’ south’ve here, out that way,” Baderon said, pointing to one of the tunnels leading out of the tavern. “You know the way Baatarsaikhan looks like?”

“Yes, I believe so. Pale blue skin, purple hair? Horns that face and curl forwards?”

“Aye, that’ll be’t. Idertuuya’s the same look, but her hair’ll be blue. Also, ah, she’s missin’ part of ‘er left leg.”

“I understand, yes. And if I am unable to locate Lady Idertuuya?”

“Hrm. Well, uh, there’s Terbish - old man, greyin’ hair, horns that go backwards - last I recall he’s been doin’ house calls for healin’ and the like, but I don’t rightly know where he lives, t’be honest. Easiest t’find’ll probably be Oyuunchimeg - she’s her own stall down in Hawkers’ Alley, The Rising Loaves, y’can’t miss it. Right by the end o’ the first block, towards the water.”

“Thank you very much, sir, for your assistance. I shall return once I can to purchase a drink from your tavern, as thanks.”

“Sure,” Baderon said with a shrug as Kanna bowed deeply and took off.

The Maelstrom Headquarters were indeed not far from the Drowning Wench; built into the side of a plaza signs called the “Aftcastle” was a large, several-storey building bearing the red sailing-ship emblem of the red-coated soldiers about the city. Kanna took a deep breath and approached the front desk; several attendants were speaking with civilians, Yellowjackets and Maelstrom soldiers alike, and one of them waved at Kanna.

“Hello there, miss - can I be helpin’ you today?” the roegadyn woman asked.

“Yes. I was hoping to speak with Idertuuya of the Kha,” Kanna said politely.

“Oh! Idree - Commander Idertuuya is actually available at the moment. Please, have a seat by the door to my left, and I’ll pearl ahead to let her know. Can I have your name, please?”

“Kanna Minamoto.”

“And the reason for your visit?”

“I….am on a mission of sorts from Kugane, and require her assistance in locating her daughter as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” the woman said, looking aghast. “Twelve, if something’s up with Baatar - just have a seat, I’ll let her know straight away.”

“Thank you,” Kanna said, bowing.

Moments later the door to the side of the reception area opened, revealing Idertuuya - blue-haired, blue-skinned, heavily scarred and, as Baderon had noted, walking upon a wooden prosthetic which replaced the lower half of her left leg.

“Nhaama,” Idertuuya said, blinking as she saw Kanna. “They said there was an Au Ra waiting for me, but I didn’t think - never mind. Come, follow me to my office, Miss Minamoto.”

Kanna nodded and trailed slightly behind Idertuuya, taking in the sights; the Maelstrom offices were a nest of desks and shelves, staffed by what looked like almost a hundred people of all the Eorzean races. Interested but unwilling to ask any questions, Kanna followed Idertuuya into a small office set into the side of the interior, and shut the door behind them at Idertuuya’s prompting.

The Xaela woman bowed as deeply as she could, and smiled. “I’ll apologize in advance for my roughness; I’ve not spoken Hingan, let alone formally, in...in a long time.  _Gokigen yo, ikaga degozaimasu_ , Kanna- _san_. Do I have the right of it?”

 

Kanna stared, too surprised to say anything for a moment before bowing in return. “I had no idea I would be hearing Hingan from an Eorzean this day, let alone a Xaela. Your speech is correct, however, though you address me as though I am  _samurai_ , which I am not. Ah, let me see -  _sain baina uu_ , Idertuuya Kha?” Kanna said, bowing slightly.

 

“Hah! Your Xaela is flawless, in comparison to my Hingan,” Idertuuya said, walking behind her desk and slumping into her chair. “And forgive me - I saw your black robes and your two swords and I simply assumed you were samurai. You looked the part, certainly. So, a Raen in Eorzea. You’ve come from far away, indeed. And, if Lieutenant Tiny Moon speaks the truth of it,” Idertuuya said, her expression sobering, “you have something to tell me about my daughter?”

“Yes, Lady Idertuuya. I was,  _ano_ , I - how can I say it. I have the gift of visions from the kami - do you follow?”

“Yes, I do. The gift of seerhood is rare, very rare indeed among the Xaela, but I have seen such things, in my childhood.”

“Oh, kami bless you,” Kanna said in obvious relief. “I was loathe to mention my visions to the soldier at the desk; I was unsure of how such things are seen in Eorzea.” She shook her head, her long hair swaying. “In any case, I have had many visions of Eorzea for many, many years. But recently - since the Calamity - the majority of these have been of a group of warriors, who face some evil, some threat, the likes of which Eorzea has not seen before. I am amongst these noble heroes in my visions, and so I knew that the kami had ordained my future - that I must come to Eorzea and take my place alongside these heroes.”

“And you say that one of these...heroes, you saw, in your visions? It was my daughter?”

“Well, yes. I did not know the name of Baatarsaikhan of the Kha until today, but the image was so strong and vivid in my mind, that by the descriptions I have heard I knew it must be her. Xaela. Auri. Purple-haired, curve-forward horns and pale blue skin. And two companions - a miqo’te man, with white hair. And a lalafellin woman, tanned and grey-haired.”

Idertuuya considered this with a blank look for several minutes before sighing and shaking her head. “You’ve just described Baatarsaikhan and her two kith-siblings, Xomni’to and Momolk, to the hairs. I can’t deny that. But...even as her mother, it is difficult for me to imagine Baatarsaikhan as a, as a hero. No offense to her - I love her more than she could ever imagine - but, ah, she seems primarily concerned with making gil, getting into fights and drinking astounding amounts of alcohol on a regular basis. And, given that she works now as a sailor I cannot imagine she has somehow developed a distaste for drinking, foul language and the like.”

Kanna winced as Idertuuya laid into her daughter, and shrugged, shaking her head. “I...I did not expect that, I will admit. But my visions have never been wrong. If the gods show my path being with Baatarsaikhan, so it is, and so it shall be. I was told she had set sail for Ul’dah? Is that correct?”

“That’s true, yes. She, Xomni’to and Momolk left on a ship called the Little Kweh - a trading schooner, about two moons ago. Where she is now, or when she is due to return?” Idertuuya sighed, a sad look crossing her face. “I cannot tell you.”

“I understand. I must thank you nonetheless, Lady Idertuuya. Your words have given me hope, comfort and reassurance.”

“What will you do now, Kanna? If you’ve no place to stay, there is a bed for you at my dwelling,” Idertuuya said kindly. “My door is open and a bed is ready for any who makes the journey from Othard to Eorzea. Would you wait for Baatarsaikhan?”

“No. No, I would not. I would seek your daughter, on foot, if I must. “

“You mean to journey to Ul’dah...on foot?”

“If it must be so, then yes.”

“You are aware that travelling, alone, in a land you have no experience with - the deserts of Thanalan especially - might be dangerous?”

“I am not a stranger to survival or combat,” Kanna said simply. “I have my clothes, I have coin, and I have two blades. Surely Eorzea must need skilled warriors? Bodyguards, protectors, adventurers?”

“I suppose,” Idertuuya said with a frown.

“Then it is settled,” Kanna said simply. “I will purchase what supplies I need, and once I am rested a sun, I shall set out to find your daughter.”

“You’re sure I can’t convince you to just stay here,” Idertuuya pressed.

“The kami guide me. There is no choosing. My path is set out ahead of me. I need but follow it,” Kanna said, getting to her feet and bowing. “Idertuuya-dono, I am sure we shall see each other again. I hope that, when such a time comes, it will be in the company of your daughter.”


	7. Home Again

**13TH SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
 _“Lads! Lasses! At home-shore we’ll be,  
  
An’ here comes the cap’n with gil for me!  
  
Limsa Lominsa, my home and my soul  
  
Limsa Lominsa, the only place I’ll know.  
  
  
Lads! Lasses! At home-shore we’ll be  
  
All of La Noscea’ll be the place for me!  
  
Limsa Lominsa, my love, my queen  
  
Limsa Lominsa’ll be th’only place for me!”_  
  
  
“DROP ANCHOR!”  
  
“HEAVE! HAUL! HEAVE! HAUL!”  
  
“ANCHOR’S DROPPED! Ramp winches! Heave!”  
  
“Heave! Haul! Heave! Haul!”  
  
The sailors watched as the Little Kweh’s ramp slammed onto the piers of Limsa Lominsa’s rebuilt docks and erupted into wild cheering, embraces and shouts. Heading into a friendly port always improved the mood aboard the ship, but the thought of returning to Limsa Lominsa after nearly two moons at sea had driven the sailors into giddy laughter before they’d even reached the Rhotano, and when they’d first seen the tall spires and double-decks of their hometown the excitement was too much for even Captain Pfarberk to resist. Even the piers themselves, far from the ramshackle and makeshift constructions that’d been present when they’d left, were almost as sturdy-looking and well-kept as they’d been before the Calamity, and while there were no massive flagships or metal-hulled galleons there, at least a dozen other schooners and assorted small ships were docked there.  
  
Most exciting was that, far from the flaming, ruined wreck of a town they’d left behind, Limsa Lominsa appeared to be in the midst of serious repair; the upper deck of the city no longer looked like it was liable to collapse at any moment, the towers were all either rebuilt or in partial states of constructions, and wherever possible massive red flags bearing the city’s emblem flew with the wind.  
  
“Gods damn, would y’look at’er!” Pfarberk shouted as the sailors finished their work. “Scaffoldin’ ‘n lifts everywhere!”  
  
“No Ul’dah, aye, but she’ll be rebuildin’ as quick as we go,” Momolk said proudly.  
  
“Anyhows! We’ll be offloadin’ our goods after I check to be sure our ol’ warehouse’ll still be where’t’s’posed to be, an’ not razed or moved for other buildings or somesuch. After that, you lot’re free to go - y’can come meet me t’night, round ten in the evenin’ at the Drowning Wench, and I’ll have the first half’ve yer pay for ye ready.”  
  
“Aye? Who’ll be watchin’ the boat?” Momolk asked.  
  
“Well Arnar ‘n I both’ll be livin’ right across from here,” Pfarberk said, gesturing at a block of apartments directly down the road from the pier. An’, well, Port Authority should be back to speed b’now,” Pfarberk explained. “Right, then - get t’offloadin’ the cargo and then get to seein’ yer families - or the tavern!”  
  
“Aye, no mentionin’ of whorin’?” Striped Lily said as the sailors began disembarking.  
  
“Whorin’ and the wine killed ol’ Nifsa, it did. Me, I’m a man’ve temperance now!” Pfarberk said, grinning.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“...I understand,” Idertuuya said, shaking her head as she leaned forward, propping herself up on her desk with her elbows. “But just because your men’ll be tired from the constant patrols, the construction or whatever else is no excuse to be slacking. Regular combat training is as important - nay, more important than ever.”  
  
“I’m not apologizing, Commander Kha. Whatever punishment you see fit, I’ll be accepting it,” the miqo’te woman said with a sigh. “But I ask that you punish the unit equally, myself included.”  
  
“That was my plan, Lieutenant Rhiki.”  
  
“I - yes. Apologies for presuming otherwise.”  
  
“No need. You’re a good woman, R’ashaht. Were your father here, I’m sure he’d be proud of you.”  
  
“That...that means a lot to me, comin’ from you, Commander.”  
  
“Mmm. Just do your best to impress upon your men that if they feel overworked, they must go through the proper channels to inform their superiors of the fact. Promise me you’ll do that, and I’ll limit the sanction to docked pay for a five-day.”  
  
“I - yes, Commander!”  
  
“Good. See to your duties, then. Dismissed.” Idertuuya said, getting to her feet.  
  
R’ashaht snapped a salute and was about to turn to leave Idertuuya’s office when the door burst open, revealing a shocked-looking roegadyn.  
  
“Sergeant First Class Aerstelaksyn, since when do I allow for people to burst into my office without approval?” Idertuuya asked, crossing her arms.  
  
“M’apologies, Commander Kha,” the man said, saluting. “But, uh, it’s yer daughter. She’s back!”  
  
Idertuuya was silent for a second before a wide smile broke out on her face. “Apology accepted. Come, R’ashaht. I’ll escort you out,” she said, leaving her office with the young miqo’te; she shut and locked her office behind her and walked out to the reception area of the Maelstrom Headquarters and stopped.  
  
  
There they were.  
  
  
Three of her children - and they’d always be children to her - standing against a wall, each carrying a heavy pack and smiles upon their faces.  
  
“Mum? MUM!” Baatarsaikhan said, running forward and pulling her mother into a strong hug. “Gods, Twelve and Nhaama, it’s so good to be sein’ ye!”  
  
“Oh, Baatar, Baatar, my little warrior, it’s good to see you to,” Idertuuya said, touching foreheads with her daughter and ruffling her hair. After a long minute, she let go, and watched in shock as she took in the scruffy, salty-looking trio standing before her. “Gods, look at you three! All grown up.”  
  
“Good to be seein’ ye too, Aunty Idree,” Momolk said with a wave.  
  
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, I’ll say,” Xomni’to added, nodding.  
  
And they had indeed grown. Xomni’to’s body was still lean and thin - she figured it always would be, even with a proper diet - but the rolled sleeves of his robes showed the signs of muscle beneath, and a small, thin smile sat upon his scarred face. Momolk stood in the middle of the group, grinning wildly and standing with her hands upon her hips; her skin was more tanned than Idertuuya could recall seeing it, and her robes - whose sleeves had been roughly chopped off at the shoulders - revealed the fruits of twomoons of hard labour.  
  
And Baatar.  
  
  
 _Gods._  
  
  
Purple hair worn long and shaggy, rough and unkempt as it fell to her shoulders. A muscled physique, even moreso than her siblings. Scars all over her face and hands. An impish smile upon her face.  
  
  
 _You look just like Chinjaal. Gods above do you look just like her, wild and strong and careless._  
  
  
“Mum? Why’ll you be cryin’?” Baatar said slowly, shaking her head.  
  
“...your mother. You look so much like Chinjaal, if I just...if I just imagine you with her face-markings and tilt my head so,” Idertuuya said, wiping tears from her face, “Nhaama take me I’d think you were her.”  
  
To her surprise, Baatar simply crossed her arms and looked at the floor. “That so, eh?”  
  
“Baatar?”  
  
“It - I don’t - nevermind that,” Baatar said, shaking her head. “Come on, then, will ye be done workin’ this sun?”  
  
“Aye, almost. Just a quick errand - I need to check up on some construction work down by the Tempest Gate, but after that I’ve the entire sun free.”  
  
“No need, ma’am,” R’ashaht said with a nod. “Tempest Gate - it’s the construction crew who’ll be fixing the outer fortifications?”  
  
“Yes. Yes, that’s the one,” Idertuuya said, nodding. “I’d greatly appreciate it.”  
  
“Think nothing of it,” R’ashaht said. “Family - aye, it’s important, it is. And you three,” R’ashaht continued, pointing at Baatar, Momolk and Xomni’to, “you’d best be treating Commander Kha with the respect she deserves! Back from two moons abroad - so help me, Baatar, if you end up in the brigs tonight there’ll be the hells to pay, and not just from yer mother.”  
  
“Oi, oi, piss off, R’asha,” Baatar said, smirking. “I’ve done nothing! Why, two moons of clean behaviour, I’ll have!”  
  
“Actually, I think you just insulted an officer of the Maelstrom,” Xomni’to said, nodding. “Aye, an’ you came damn close to gettin’ yourself into trouble in Ul’dah, you did.”  
  
“Shut it,” Baatar hissed; R’ashaht simply smiled, and took off towards the Aftcastle.  
  
“Well it appears you three have stories abound, hmm?” Idertuuya asked, stepping forward to hug Xomni’to and Momolk. “Terbish’ll be doin’ house calls, I imagine, but Oyuun’s down at the alley, working hard as usual. Why don’t we go visit her?”  
  
“Aye, I’m famished, an - oho, shite, I almost forgot! I’ve a gift for ye, Idree,” Momolk said proudly. “Good that we’ll see Oyuun - she’ll be wantin’ to know ‘bout it too, methinks.”  
  
“Well, let’s be off, then.”  
  
Idertuuya watched, content, as the three children regaled her with tales from their time at sea; of Ul’dah and its riches and its weathering of the Calamity; of Gridania’s forests and the hardened, tough-as-nails Xaela inhabitant that Baatarsaikhan had spoken to, of days spent on the open sea, working from sun up to sundown.  
  
Before long they’d arrived at The Rising Loaves; Oyuunchimeg was busy finishing dealing with customers who were eager to buy the pies and breads she was selling.  
  
“Oi, oi, oi, who’s that lad there?” Baatar said, pointing at a well-built hyuran man working the ovens behind Oyuunchimeg.  
  
“That,” Idertuuya said with pride, “is Edward Tanner.”  
  
“Oyuun finally went and gots herself an assistant?” Momolk asked.  
  
“Aye, an assistant. Also her boyfriend of one moon.” Idertuuya explained.  
  
“Oho,” Baatar said, smirking. “Oyuun’s finally gone and snagged ‘erself a man, has she?”  
  
“I mean, you can’t blame the man. Oyuun has the look of the well-kept, hardworking woman about her,” Xomni’to explained, “and a baker-woman of very clearly exotic descent? It sounds the start of a fairytale or something, no?”  
  
“Why, words like that, I’d be a-wagerin’ you were lustin’ after cousin Oyuun yerself,” Momolk sniggered, as Baatar joined in with the laughing.  
  
“The two of you! How rude!” Idertuuya scolded.  
  
“Ahh, we’re just yankin’ ‘is tail. Xomni’to’s only got eyes for ‘is books and shite,” Baatar said, patting Xomni’to playfully on the shoulder.  
  
“You know, at this rate I think I’m going to have to be re-instituting the swear-pot back at the apartment,” Idertuuya muttered. “Two moons at sea, and somehow I swear your mouth’s gotten filthier - which, frankly, I didn’t think possible.”  
  
“Oh, piss, I’m not even’ scratchin’ the top half of the barrel o’ curses I ken,” Baatar said proudly. “I’s been holdin’ back! For ye virgin horns, mum.”  
  
“Uh-huh. Look, Oyuun’s free! Now, nothing untoward regarding Edward, and especially watch your tongue, or Oyuunchimeg will beat you sensless with one of her cast-irons,” Idertuuya cautioned.  
  
Momolk poked Baatar in the leg; Baatar leaned down as the lalafell muttered something in her ear, and the two began roaring with laughter as they approached the stall.  
  
“Aunty Idree? Ah, gods above you’re back! Baatar! Momo! Xomni!” Oyuun shouted, hopping the counter to pull the three into a hug. “So! Look at you lot! A bunch of big-muscled, salty sailors, you look!” She paused, jerking a head backwards. “Edward! This’ll be my cousins!”  
  
“Ha, so I finally get to be meetin’ the famous Baatarsaikhan, eh?” Edward said, his blond ponytail swinging as he too hopped over the counter to join the group. “ _Avga_  Idree, good to see you as always. And you two’ll be Xomni’to and Momolk, right?”  
  
“Aye, that’ll be us,” Momolk said, nodding. “Oyuun’s not been speakin’ ill of us, I hope?”  
  
“No, no, nothing bad about the two of you. For Baatar? I’m not willing to say,” Edward said, laughing.  
  
“Ah, you pissant,” Bataar said, patting Oyuun on the shoulder. “Now why’s you gone an ruined me reputation already?”  
  
“Nothing you didn’t do yourself, Baatar. Well, I can be closing early today, for family, certainly,” Oyuunchimeg said before turning to face the dozen or so customers eating at the tables outside her stall. “Ho there! Some of my family’s come back from sea - will any’ve you be wanting anything else ‘fore I close this sun?”  
  
“Aye,” a roegadyn man said. “Just a box o’ pies - any sort’ll do - if th’others hear I came to the Rising Loaves and weren’t be buyin’ them somethin’ they’d have me ‘ead.”  
  
“Of course - a box of pies for your friends, Blynnyst. Anyone else?”  
  
The other customers shook their heads or said no, and Edward pat Oyuun on the back. “Go on, loves, I’ll take care of the shop - you just head on home to catch up with the family. I’ll see you there, alright?”  
  
“Thanks, Edward - it means the world to me.” The two kissed, and Edward leapt back over the counter to begin setting pies into a small wooden box.  
  
“Wow. Cousin Oyuun even does the kissin’, now,” Baatar said in mock astonishment. “Twelve, next thing y’know she’ll be holdin’ hands with a man.”  
  
“That doesn’t even make any sense, you idiot,” Xomni’to said, frowning. “Holding hands goes before kissing.”  
  
“By holdin’ hands d’ye mean fistfightin’? ‘Cause Baatar’s done fistfights ‘fore lockin’ lips with plenty’a folk, men or otherwise,” Momolk said, sniggering.  
  
“A - shut it! An’ that’ll be a bold-faced lie, it will,” Baatar shot back, glancing at her mother.  
  
“You know, for some very odd, strange, inexplicable reason, the idea of you beating the tar out of some poor lad or lass on foreign shores, then - ech - falling into bed with them seems entirely in character for you,” Idertuuya said, chuckling.  
  
“Oh, come on!” Baatar said, aiming a kick at Momolk, who danced out of the way. “Nary two bells back and I’m the target of ire from everyone! Sod this. I’m going home!” Baatar shouted, stomping off towards the end of the alley as the others followed.  
  
Soon enough they arrived back at where the old apartment building had once been; the restaurant was gone, instead now bearing the sign “Terbish Kha, Basic Chirurgeon, Vendor of Medicinal Goods Eorzean & Exotic.”  
  
“Ho. Terbish did himself good with ‘is buisness, did he?” Momolk said with a whistle.  
  
“He did,” Oyuunchimeg explained. “Got himself a linkpearl and everything - he does house calls for the rich on some days. Left this morning to be serving a wealthy fellow by the name of Gegeruju or somesuch - he’ll be out in the Bloodshore now, but I’m certain he’ll be home by the evening.”  
  
“Bloodshore? That’s naught but sand ‘n saltwater,” Baatar said with a frown. “The hells is out there for a man with gil-a-plenty?”  
  
Oyuunchimeg shrugged as Idertuuya unlocked Terbish’s store and let them inside. “Nothing, as far as I know.”  
  
The old restaurant had been totally destroyed by the Calamity and its aftermath; Terbish’s shop was actually larger than the restaurant had been, and its interior was a far cry from the rustic, rugged restaurant it had once been. Expensive, lacquered woods formed the counters and shelves, and dozens of cases bearing herbs, potions and other goods lined the walls.  
  
Momolk let out a whistle at seeing the goods, and shook her head. “Navigator be takin’ me. How’n the hells did Uncle Terbish afford this?”  
  
“Turns out, Terbish’s moonlighting as a doctor before the Calamity did actually get him some recognition,” Oyuun explained, walking behind the counters and pointing to a framed letter on the wall. “And then he spent all that time working for the Maelstrom as a healer, right? Well, a couple well-to-do folk liked his services enough to be hirin’ him as their personal chirurgeon. Plenty of coin that way. The interior, that was done by a lumberman he ended up saving the life of after the Calamity - Terbish pulled both the man, his wife and his sons from the brink of death, and as gift the man did Terbish’s place up all pretty-like.”  
  
Idertuuya locked the door behind them and the group made their way upstairs to the apartments; the upper floors seemed to be roughly as large as they had been before, but now there were two upper storeys instead of just the one. They stopped on the second floor, and Baatar frowned as she noticed there were only two doors, instead of the half-dozen she recalled from before the Calamity.  
  
“No need for extra rooms when it’s only the three of us,” Idertuuya explained, “and even with you three here that’s only five. Counting Edward, that’s six.” The sigh was heavy in her voice. “A far cry from the old days.”  
  
“Aye,” Baatar muttered. “Isn’t it so.”  
  
“Well, we didn’t come home to be sad,” Idertuuya said, exhaling deeply. She led them over to one of the doors and unlocked it; she opened the door for the others, and Baatar stopped in the doorway.  
  
“Well, shite, I knew it’d be bigger, but this? This’ll be somethin’, huh,” Baatar said slowly. The apartment was far, far larger than it had been before; it was easily four or five times as big as the apartment she’d grown in, full of furs, banners, mats and chairs.  
  
“Bigger, aye, but it’ll look a tad larger than it is. We took most of the walls down - there’s the living room, the kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom each for me’n Terbish,” Idertuuya explained.  
  
“And all the furnishings?” Xomni’to asked as the group sat down at the large kitchen table. “There are a dozen seats here at the table and plenty more besides.”  
  
“Well,” Idertuuya said with a shrug, “I’m an officer, and that means inviting my colleagues over. Terbish has plenty of friends made through his work. And Oyuun’s got her friends over enough that once in a while we’ll all stay in one apartment to relax and catch up.”  
  
“Oh, speaking of,” Momolk said, hopping off seat just seconds after she’d sat down, “I’ve a gift! Here,” she said, tearing open her pack and pulling out a chest larger than her head. She set it on her chair, clambered back onto the chair itself then lifted the chest onto the dining table. “A gift from - wait for’t - the gods-damned Sultana of Ul’dah!”  
  
The table went silent, and all eyes stared at Momolk.  
  
“I - come on, even you’ll not be believin’ me?” Momolk shouted indignantly.  
  
Xomni’to sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Right. So, uh, apparently, Momolk here met with a noblewoman of high rank in the Ul’dahn Sultanate. According to her-”  
  
“-it happened, you little shite -”  
  
“-said noblewoman asked to be hidden from the Sultansworn, as she was supposed to be at a meeting of some sort. Thus, Momolk came to the conclusion that said person was the Sultana herself, apparently.”  
  
“I - well, y’know what, all of ye can be shuttin’ it,” Momolk groused. “Just open the box!”  
  
Idertuuya took the chest and undid all of its latches; everyone leaned forward to peer inside, and Baatar let out a low whistle as the box creaked open. Inside was a multi-segmented metal interior; several compartments had their own secondary latches, and glass-enclosed ring of pure, refined ice crystals ringed the interior, chilling the goods within. A small sheaf of folded parchment had been tucked into the upper half of the chest, and Idertuuya plucked it out, unfolded it carefully and lay it on the table. The parchment itself was astoundingly smooth, the handwriting uniformly exquisite and a stamp bearing a circular symbol sat at the bottom of the letter.  
  
  


_To Momolk Molkoh, my dear and newfound friend:_

_Thank you very much for the time we spent together. Though my duties rarely do allow me to spend time within the city I and the others of the Sultanate are charged with running, the day’s excursion I spent with you was not only productive - it was fun, something I cannot say for most days, even before the ire of the Calamity struck Ul’dah. Your ideas, your intellect, and your wit were most welcome companions for the brief time that we spent together. My only regret is that we could spend only half the sun together; I fear that, barring the best of circumstances, it is unlikely that we shall be able to meet properly again - that is to say, in such an open and relaxed atmosphere._

_Enclosed within this chest is a variety of goods, all of which come from those which you expressed interest in during our meeting. You will find a full inventory of the goods within written on a piece of parchment in the top left compartment, but in brief there are two dozen alchemical reagents (as well as seeds for the plants among that number and instructions on their caring) which I believe will help improve the efficacy of your tentatively named “hangover cure.” While I am aware that reliably getting ahold of some of these reagents will be difficult for you in Limsa Lominsa, at least until the old trade routes are restored, it is my most sincere hope that the inventory here will last you at least until you are able to create a concoction that you are content with. The large segments at the bottom right of the chest, on the other hand, contain the requisite ingredients for cool-beer yeast, as well as instructions on how to reproduce the yeasts reliably and some basic tenets of cool-beer brewing, sourced directly from the Brewer’s Guild’s own guildmaster (with his permission, of course.)_

_In truth I must admit that I was not entirely honest with you, though I am sure you were able to divine that during our meeting. Though I am still amused that your conclusion was my person being the Sultana, I will say that my claim of not knowing the Sultana personally was, in fact, a lie. I, personally, am very well known to the Sultana, and vice-versa; in fact, the goods which lay before you come as complements from Her Grace, who Herself expresses interest in meeting you properly if the opportunity and circumstance arises in a manner which favours such a thing. Furthermore, upon my relaying that both you and your brother both suffer from impairments to your sight thanks to the injuries inflicted upon you by the Dreadwyrm, the Sultana has insisted that, the next time you, your brother, or both of you are again in the city of Ul’dah, that you speak to Guildmaster Serendipity Kempton of the Goldsmithing Guild, to be fitted for monocles, paid for in advance._

_I am already finding, coming to the end of my missive to you, that I would sooner have you return than write another page of words to you. Rather, I shall simply say that there is, at the very least, one woman in Ul’dah who shall not judge you by your appearance or the nature of your language; let us hope that we shall meet again, and soon, when circumstances for all Eorzeans have changed for the better.  
_

 

_May Nald and Thal keep your person safe and your coffers full,_

_Lady Lilira Lira_

_P.S. I have heard a great deal about the popularity of pink highlights amongst the general public these days. Perhaps, the next time you are in my fine city, you ought to ask Miss Momodi about them. I assure you she - and I - will want to discuss them._

  
  
  
“Momolk Molkoh, I’ve no idea how you managed to get someone in the Sultanate backing you,” Idertuuya said in disbelief, “but you’ve gone and done the thing. Gods, am I proud of you. I do have to know, though, what’s cool-beer?”  
  
“Oh, shite, it’s - it’s beer, but not like ale,” Baatar said excitedly. “Right, so ale’ll be reddish or brown or black like stout, aye? Right, but cool-beer, it’ll be golden and pale, light as small-beer with a taste all its one. When th’summer sun’s out, it’ll be all hot-like, right? So people’ll be chillin’ their tankards an’ kegs with ice-cryst, sure, but ale’ll still be a thick drink. If drinkin’ ale’n’stout’ll be like drinkin’ a loaf’a bread, then cool-beer’s like iced water or the like!”  
  
Oyuunchimeg let out a low whistle. “That’s...well that’s something. If that’s even half true, why, all of Limsa’d be lining up to buy it. I bet even folks who shy away from ales, thinking it too heavy a drink, might be drinking this cool-beer of yours. And while I’m no brewmaster, I’ve dabbled in ale-makin’ before. But if I were to be brewing with these yeasts, I’d not want to be wasting them, certainly.” She paused, when suddenly her eyes lit up. “Aunty. Aunty, this is it! You - we - we could be openin’ a bleeding restaurant again, if it’ll be so popular!”  
  
“Don’t go gettin’ ahead of yourself,” Idertuuya cautioned. “We saved more than a year’s coin from twenty working people to be turning Yesui’s - Nhaama keep his soul - little cart into a restaurant. And we didn’t make that money back for more than a year.”  
  
“How much?”  
  
Everyone turned to look at Baatar, whose eyes were alight and her expression determined.  
  
“What?” Oyuunchimeg asked, shaking her head.  
  
“I said, how much to be openin’ a restaurant an’ brewery?”  
  
“Baatar, I don’t know,” Oyuun said slowly. “Not off the top of my head. But...it’d be a lot, like yer mum says.”  
  
Baatar reached into her pack, and tossed her bulging coinpurse at Oyuun. “Here ye go, cousin. An’ there’ll be more t’night.”  
  
“I...I was just thinking about the idea,” Oyuun protested, staring at the coinpurse. “I wasn’t being serious.”  
  
“Oyuun, you been workin’ that stall since we was little. You find this Edward and, knowin’ you, you two’ll be doin’ the nasty ‘n poppin’ kids out - or adoptin’, or whatever - in a year or less.”  
  
“BAATAR!” Oyuun shouted, pale skin turning bright.  
  
“What? Ye’s not gonna be tellin’ me I’m wrong or nothin’, will ye? Twixt a bunch of little buggers runnin’ round and such, you’ll not be openin’ a bleedin’ restaurant or a beer-makin’ place, not like that. So, here’s me coin, and I’ll give ye three-quarters of what I done made from two-months a-sailin’ this evenin’ when the cap’n pays me my wage.” Baatar shrugged, grinning. “Y’know I’d be spendin’ the money on booze or the like anyhows.”  
  
“I - aunty, tell her no,” Oyuun said, staring with mouth askew at Idertuuya and the others.  
  
Idertuuya smiled. “Baatarsaikhan, that’s...that’s very selfless of you. You would just give your coin away like that?”  
  
Baatar shrugged. “I’ll be stayin’ in Limsa only ‘til the Kweh ships out ‘gain. Pfarberk says we’ll be home maybe...two moons? Three, at the most. I’ll be livin’ ‘ere, makin’ gil helpin’ to be buildin’ the bigger ship the cap’n says he wants, haulin’ cargo, the like. So I can be payin’ for me food - there’ll be no worryin’ from you!”  
  
“I - gods - I - Baatar, you’re serious,” Oyuun said quietly.  
  
“Aye, this is pretty queer, coming from you,” Xomni’to said with a wry smile.  
  
“Hey! A shite I might be to louts at taverns aye, but you’ll not be tellin’ anyfolk that m’family’s not comin’ first,” Baatar protested.  
  
“No, no, no, I think they’re just giving you a hard time,” Idertuuya said, putting an arm around Baatar. “I think it’s just nice to see you being so altruistic.”  
  
“The fuck’s an all-true-istic?”  
  
“Language, young lady! An - oh, gods.” Idertuuya shuddered, and rubbed at her horns.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Momolk asked.  
  
“There...there, ah, there was a Raen woman. From Kugane, I believe, she was here just three days ago looking for you, Baatar. And for Momolk and Xomni’to.”  
  
The three sailors looked at one another, confused.  
  
“Uh….why?” Xomni’to asked, perplexed.  
  
“She said she had the gift of seerhood,” Idertuuya explained, scratching at her head. “Something about you three being heroes, and her needing to be with you.”  
  
“A hero! Y’hear that, eh? I’m a hero!” Baatar said, grinning madly.  
  
“I - I’m being serious, Baatar, this poor woman travelled for the two months at sea to come to Eorzea looking for you,” Idertuuya said sadly, “and she set out, on foot, to Ul’dah to find you three!”  
  
“She has my pity already,” Momolk stated in a flat tone with the utmost seriousness. “Really, why not just...wait? What sorta shite-for-brains goes walkin’ t’Ul’dah without so much as waitin’ a sun or two?”  
  
“Well I’m not her mother,” Idertuuya said, shaking her head, “but maybe she had a vision that told her to do so. I know you didn’t grow up on the Steppe, Momo, Xomni, but seerhood is...it’s a burden.”  
  
“Aye,” Xomni’to said with a raised eye. “Visions. Or delusions.”  
  
“They’re not delusions,” Baatar noted, “but, I mean, if she’ll be an honest seer, she’ll have a weird way ‘bout her. Probably she’d’ve left for Ul’dah no matter what. Fate, or the like.”  
  
“Well if you ever run into one Kanna Minamoto - Raen, white-haired, pink-eyed - you make sure you listen to her, alright?”  
  
Baatar snorted. “Since when do Steppe-folk listen to Raen?”  
  
“City-raised or not, she’s still Auri,” Idertuuya said chidingly, “and a seer, no less. I’m not asking you to be a Mol seeress, but power like that’s not to be taken lightly.”  
  
“Mol?” Momolk asked. “They’re, uh, a tribe, right?”  
  
“Aye,” Oyuun said, nodding. “They’ll be listenin’ to the gods ‘fore takin any actions at all. And their seeress, th’one who runs the tribe, always has the gift of visions.”  
  
Xomni’to shook his head. “I’m with Baatar on this one. Why’ll we be listening to a woman who says she can, ahem, see the future?”  
  
“She described the three of you down to your hairs,” Idertuuya said, smirking. “Without ever seeing you in her life, in person, anyway.”  
  
“Well, piss,” Baatar muttered. “Fine! If I’ll be seein’ this white-haired lady, I’ll not turn her away. Good?”  
  
“What’s all the commotion?” came Edward’s voice as he entered the apartment. “Sorry about the wait - just had some poor Maelstrom man come in an beg me for a cup of the house special, and I couldn’t be turnin’ him down.”  
  
“Oh, oh, oho, nothing’s the commotion,” Baatar said with a toothy grin. “Please, be sittin’. I’ve so much to be askin’ ye.”

 

* * *

 

**END OF PROLOGUE FOUR  
**

 

Party:

 

Baatarsaikhan Kha  
Race: Au Ra, Xaela  
Age: 18  
Class: Marauder, Level 3  
  
Xomni'to Molkoh  
Race: Miqo'te, Keeper of The Moon  
Age: 18  
Class: Arcanist, Level 5  
  
Momolk Molkoh  
Race: Lalafell, Dunesfolk  
Age: 18  
Class: Arcanist, Level 9

 


	8. INTERLUDE: YEAR ONE

**INTERLUDE III: SEARCHING  
  
14TH SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
“Oh, gods, you shites again? What’ll you be wantin’ now?” Baderon said, grinning as Baatar, Momolk and Xomni’to entered the Drowning Wench.  
  
“Ah, you old, salty turd, I forgots somethin’ the night before,” Baatar said as the three pulled up seats at the bar. It was nearly four in the afternoon, and the tavern was filling up with workers and other patrons who wanted a post-work drink or a pre-dinner snack. “Now, remember I says we mets Momodi in Ul’dah?”  
  
“Aye,” Baderon said slowly, eyes narrowing. “You gave me shite a-plenty for, ahem, knowin’ Miss Momodi in me younger days. Great. What now?”  
  
“Now,” Baatar said proudly, “we. Have. PROOF.” She pulled a letter from her tunic and waved it around in the air. “OI! ANYONE WANT’S TO BE HEARIN’ HOW THE LALAFELLIN LASS THAT OL’ BADERON FANCIES WRITES TO’IM?”  
  
The tavern’s patrons all stopped to look and immediately began chanting.  
  
“OPEN IT! OPEN IT! OPEN IT!”  
  
“You little fuckwit shit - OI! Do NOT open that!” Baderon said, frantically trying to snatch the envelope out of Baatar’s hands; she simply hopped off her seat and away from the counter.  
  
“Too bad, y’old pissant! Miss Momodi herself, she says I could be a-readin’ it - and so I am!” Baatar opened the letter as Baderon sunk into a nearby chair, hands over his face, and sighed as Baatar tossed the parchment to Momolk, who stood atop her chair and began reading in her best Ul’dahn accent.  
  
“Dearest Baderon Tenfingers, whose ten fingers I long to have on and in me again,” Momolk began. “Writing these letters is difficult, for so stricken am I with longing for you as I write that every bone in my body demands I cease writing, and put my hands into my nethers while I think of yo-”  
  
“-gods, PLEASE, STOP,” Baderon cried. “PLEASE!”  
  
“Alright! We’ll stop, we will - but we do it Ul’dah style! A favor for a favor! So if ye want this ta stop... a round for everyone in the Wench!” Baatar shouted.  
  
“BADERON BUYS A ROUND! BADERON BUYS A ROUND!” came the shout.  
  
“Fuck all’ye to the hells! You’ll get yer round! Now hands over that letter, you little shites!”  
  
“Here ye go, Master Baderon Tenfingers,” Momolk said, tossing the parchment and envelope over to him. “Frankly, Baatar, we should’a read more. One round for all? That’s hardly worth’t. Could’a easily milked ‘im for five? Six rounds? We didn’t even get to th’part where she talks ‘bout removin’ her pants.” Momolk mimed fanning herself, and pretended to swoon. “Let me says - that’s a real romance there, it is.”  
  
“I’m a hero, right? Can’t be totally crushin’ a man’s dignity,” Baatar said with a gleeful look. “And THAT, Baderon, is revenge for the time you’ll be tellin’ me mum ‘bout the time with the roegadyn and the carp!”  
  
“Twelve, Baatar, you vindictive shite, that night nearly did the whole tavern in!” Baderon shouted, setting the letter beneath the bartop and pulling out jugs from a nearby shelf. “And you knows what? Maybe I will be readin’ this to meself later t’night.”  
  
“Ech. Now there’s a thought. Wash yer hands ‘fore you go pullin’ more pints, if you please,” Baatar needled with a smile. “Anyhows, I’s actually came for a question t’be askin’ ye,” she said, expression sobering. “So, you does yer own brewin’ here, right?”  
  
“Aye,” Baderon answered, filling one of the dozen or so jugs with ale from a cask. “Why’ll you be wantin’ t’know?”  
  
“We came across a recipe for something called cool-beer - have you heard of it?” Xomni’to said.  
  
“No. What, plenty-a-people take their beer cold, aye,” Baderon said with a frown. “Why’ll you be needin’ a recipe?”  
  
Momolk explained the cool-beer to Baderon, and when she finished her story Baderon actually stopped filling the jugs to take a seat.  
  
“Now holds up. You’re sayin’ you put th’yeast at the bottom of the cask? That’s mad,” he protested.  
  
“Well, I drank enough’ve the stuff to put me out on th’floor of Momodi’s tavern, I did,” Baatar said. “And y’know that I like me drink. So there’s an endorsement, there is.”  
  
“Hmm. Well, I don’t quite believe’t, ‘bout how you go ‘bout makin’ it, aye, but imaginin’ that you’ve the right of it, what’s the question you’ll be askin’ me?”  
  
“Well, ah, I gaves a bunch of gil to Oyuunchimeg, since I’m a-thinkin’ she might open a brewery or the like t’make this stuff. I’m just thinkin’, how much gil’s it take to be openin’ one? I mean, I’ll be a-trustin’ her to do the numbers and buyin’ and the like, but I figures a man like you’s gotta know how much it’ll be to start one.”  
  
“Hmm.” Baderon scratched at his bandanna and frowned. “I mean...I don’t have the books from back when I’s opened this place, not anymore. Been a while. But...off the top’ve me head, let’s say you want ‘nough to be makin’ a good profit, some help, sellin’ casks ‘a beer to folks like me? That’s...hrm. Here’s the thing, see - anyfolk can be makin’ beer for theyselves or a few folk. But - well, imagine all the people who’ll be comin’ here for a drink. An’ for every ten men who’ll take a pint or two, there’s one’ve you, Baatar - the sort who’ll drink a jug - or six - just for themselves. Y’want to be makin’ it big - like, the ones who make the stout fer’me - that’s...that’s four-hundred-thousand gil, easy. Little more, little less.”  
  
Baatar frowned and stared at her fingers for several moments, then nodded. “A’right. That’s...that’s a little more than a year’s gil fer me, aye.”  
  
“What, you’ll be payin’ for Oyuun’s brewery?”  
  
“Most’ve it,” Baatar said, nodding. “What’m I gonna do with fourty-thou gil, eh? Drink it all?”  
  
“Come on, lass,” Baderon said, shaking his head as he got up to resume filling jugs. “You’ll be needin’ the money! You want a place’ve yer own, or a house, or summat - you’ll be made for greater things than drinkin’ all yer wages away,” Baderon scolded.  
  
“Ah, piss off,” Baatar said, sighing. “These two,” she said, nodding at her siblings, “they’ll be wantin’ to be rich’n famous in books or the like. Me, eh, I’ll make gil doin’ whatever. Sailin’s just easy an’ fun, it is.”  
  
“And you two have no objections t’this?” Baderon asked Momolk and Xomni’to.  
  
“S’er money,” Momolk said, smiling. “An’ sides, she’ll be keepin’ some of the gil.”  
  
“Aye,” Xomni’to agreed, nodding slightly. “And we’re pitching in, too.”  
  
“Huh,” Baderon said with a surprised look. “Y’know, Baatar, that’s awful selfless of ye. But good on ye, now that I think it.” He sighed, then looked at the dozen jugs sitting in front of him. “ALRIGHT, YE SHITES! Jugs are ‘ere and I’m sure as piss not bringin’ em to ye, so come get’em!”  
  
  


* * *

  


  
**12TH SUN OF THE FIFTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Ul’dah**  
  
  
“Nald and Thal,” Momodi said, shaking her head as another Au Ra - this one with bright, pink eyes, white-haired, and white-horned walked into the Quicksand. _This one’s not like Baatar, though - reminds me of the, the Raen? Yes, the Raen, the ones who came before_. “Ho there!” she shouted, waving.  
  
“Greetings,” the woman said in an odd, stiff accent as she bowed deeply. “My name is Kanna Minamoto. Would you be Momodi Modi, proprietress of the Quicksand tavern and inn?”  
  
“Yes, Miss Minamoto, that’d be me. Now, pardon me for saying, but...you’re Au Ra, right? And the sort that come from Hingashi and Doma, not the Steppe-kind. Raen, if I recall.”  
  
“Why, yes! That is correct,” the woman said, putting a hand to her chest in surprise. “I am pleasantly shocked to hear such knowledge of my people in Ul’dah.”  
  
“Mhmm. You’re not the first Raen I’ve met, in fact.”  
  
“Oh! There are more in Eorzea?” Kanna said, taking a seat on a stool and placing her hands on her lap. “When was this?”  
  
“Ah, well, the last Raen that came through Ul’dah was...that was at least two, three years ago. Ah, his name - Hirotomo? He never did say his last name. He had a sword like the ones you wear,” Momodi said, gesturing at Kanna’s two katana.  
  
“Did Hirotomo say why he was here?” Kanna asked.  
  
“He did - something about finding a criminal of some sort. Why, do you recognize the name?”  
  
“No, I am sorry. I do not. Perhaps the others you mention?”  
  
“Right - there was Rokumi Okeya, also had a sword like yours, came through here maybe five, six years ago. Said she was just travelling the world - a wandering woman, she called herself. And the other’d be Mane Fukiku - a weaponsmith, who came as part of a trade ship about eight years past. Just wanted to see smithing techniques and the like.”  
  
“How unfortunate. I am afraid to say none of those names are known to me,” Kanna said sadly, shaking her head. “In any case, I have travelled to Ul’dah from Limsa Lominsa on foot, and I am quite parched, hungry, and in need of good bath.”  
  
“Well you’ve come to the right place, miss,” Momodi said with a smile. “We’ve rooms for all coinpurses, and the same for food and drink. Will you be wanting a room right away?”  
  
“Perhaps a drink, first. Would you happen to have a fruit-liqueur of some sort? The rice wine of my home country is...difficult to find in Eorzea, at least so far.”  
  
“I do, I do. Mead, brandy of all sorts, and I’ve liqueurs made of pineapple, lemon, oranges and such.”  
  
“Well I must say that none of those are familiar drinks to me,” Kanna said, shaking her head. “Perhaps - yes. There is a common drink in Kugane,  _umeshu_ , made of...I do not know the word in Eorzean.  _Ume_ , it is a sort of purple fruit - in any case, the resulting drink is sour, a little sweet. Would there be a drink with a taste like that?”  
  
“Oh! I think I’ve got the thing just for you. Lemon-essence,” Momodi said, disappearing beneath the counter and reappearing shortly with a frosty bottle filled with a yellow liquid. “Lemons - very sour fruits - from La Noscea, steeped in strong spirits and mixed with a litle syrup. I think you’ll like it!”  
  
“Then I shall have some, I think. How much is it for a serving?”  
  
“One-hundred-and-five gil will get you a glass,” Momodi said, pointing to a small brass container on the shelf behind her, “and it’ll also be chilled.”  
  
“One lemon-essence, Miss Momodi - and here is your gil,” Kanna said, handing her gil over.  
  
“Thank you very much,” Momodi replied, sliding the coins into a hole on her countertop behind the bar. She pulled one of the brass cups out of a nearby shelf, then filled it with drink; she slid it over to Kanna, who nodded and took a small sip.  
  
“Ah! It is good, very good,” Kanna said with a smile. “A little sweeter than I expected - but that is not a bad thing!”  
  
“Why, sometimes all a day needs a little sweetness, hmm?” Momodi said. “So? What’ll you be doing in Ul’dah, then?”  
  
“Well I - actually, I did have a question before I spin you a heavy tale of my life,” Kanna said, frowning. “I did see a woman with pink strands in the tips of her hair on the way in. Do you know where one could have these pink...highlights? Yes, highlights added to one’s hair?”  
  
“Pink highlights, huh,” Momodi said, her expression sobering. “That so. Ah - quick question, do you happen to know someone by the name of Momolk Molkoh?”  
  
“Why, yes - well, I don’t know her personally,” Kanna said sadly, “but in fact, I am searching for her and her two companions - Xomni’to Molkoh, and Baatarsaikhan Kha.”  
  
“You are, hmm? But you don’t know them personally? You’ve never met them?” Momodi pressed.  
  
“Well, no,” Kanna replied. “But I do know of them down to the visage, and it is my mission to meet them as soon as I can.”  
  
“Really. How do you know what they look like?”  
  
“Well,  _ano_ , ah, it is…” Kanna trailed, took another sip of her drink and sighed before leaning forward slightly. “Please do not think me a madwoman or such, but, I am blessed with visions. And to prove it so, allow me to describe the three I am searching for. Momolk is a lalafell woman with tanned skin and grey hair. Xomni’to Molkoh is miqo’te, pale-grey in complexion with hair as white as snow. And Baatarsaikhan Kha, she is of Xaela ancestry - light blue skin, and her hair is purple.”  
  
“Well you’re not wrong about that,” Momodi said. “That is how they look.”  
  
“I would not lie about matters as serious as the gift of visions,” Kanna said gravely. “But I must ask - why bring up Momolk Molkoh, at the mention of pink hair? As I recalled, hers is grey.”  
  
“I - well, it’s just that Momolk asked the same question, actually,” Momodi said, the lie telling itself with ease. “It’s not exactly a common thing to be asking, and especially not so soon in between the two.”  
  
“Soon - oh, kami. They were here - well of course they were, Momolk asked you a question - but when did they pass through Ul’dah?” Kanna sputtered.  
  
“Well, they were in Vesper Bay aboard their sailing ship only four days ago. And they spent a solid few days in Ul’dah the month before,” Momodi explained. “I’m afraid you really didn’t miss them by much.”  
  
Kanna chugged down the rest of her drink, then cradled her head in her hands. “I - I cannot - this is - ahem. My apologies. Miss Momodi, did they say where they and their sailing ship were going, after they left Vesper Bay?”  
  
“They were headed back home to Limsa Lominsa, actually,” Momodi said, wincing slightly.  
  
“I think I shall take another glass of that drink,” Kanna said, sighing.  
  


* * *

  


  
**15TH SUN OF THE FIFTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Ul’dah**  
  
  
Rather than make way to Limsa right away on foot, Kanna figured it would be best to ask around to see if she couldn’t find passage on a ship back to Limsa from Vesper Bay, or failing that, a cart ride to a settlement closer to the Lominsan islands. To her surprise, she managed to find a group of traders who were due to leave on the evening of the fifteenth, and were happy to let her on board so long as she promised to assist the ship’s crew in protecting the goods in case of an attack by pirates or the like.  
  
With two whole suns to spend in Ul’dah, Kanna had found that there was, in fact, quite a bit to do in the city even with her choice to limit her spending as much as possible; on the recommendation of Momodi, she’d found a barber who was happy to give her highlights “as pink as her eyes,” as she’d asked for, at a price that was, by her estimation, eminently reasonable. She’d been set on enjoying local street food and spending time in the local temple libraries for the rest of her stay - and while she did do all of those things, she couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to be under constant watch by the white-clad guards of the Sultansworn. Oh, they did their best to hide the fact that they were watching her, but her keen eyes were quick to see when they were tailing her, when they would ever-so-conveniently appear in the same restaurant as her, or just happen to be standing guard outside a temple she’d spent time in.  
  
Finally, on the morning of the fifteenth, she’d paid Momodi for her room and stepped outside to find no less than three Sultansworn standing across the street, doing their best to look as inconspicuous as possible. Fuming, she strode straight up to them and bowed as little as was possible before clearing her throat.  
  
“Excuse me, fine sirs,” Kanna said in a thinly polite tone, “I cannot help but notice that the Sultansworn of this city have been following my person for the past two days. Is there a reason for this odd, intrusive and entirely unwelcome behaviour?”  
  
“Uh, apologies, ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the roegadyn who looked the oldest of the three said in a tone which very clearly showed that he knew exactly what Kanna was talking about. “Just standing here, doing my job as best I can.”  
  
“Is that so?” Kanna said, a wide, entirely unfriendly smile spreading across her face. “Because, as I can recall, you, my good roegadyn sultansworn, you specifically have been trailing me. You were the one who entered that small meat-on-a-stick shop and sat down two tables from me, and also the one that entered the Temple of Nald and Thal as I was visiting. Can you deny that, sir?”  
  
“....yes?”  
  
“I - you - that is IT,” Kanna said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Well, congratulations, sir, you have achieved your goal! I am leaving this city. Good day!”  
  


* * *

  


**  
19TH SUN OF THE FIFTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
“Uh, Commander Kha, remember that Auri lady who came by a while ago? The white-haired one?”  
  
Idertuuya looked up from her paperwork and sighed, rubbing at her left stump. “Yes, I do - oh, godsdamnit, she’s here, isn’t she.”  
  
“She, uh, yeah. She is.”  
  
“Send her in,” Idertuuya said, turning off her linkpearl. Moments later Kanna appeared, bowed, and entered her office.  
  
“Lady Idertuuya,” Kanna said slowly as Idertuuya got up to shake her hand. “I take it by your expression - and everyone else’s - that...that I have missed your daughter?”  
  
Idertuuya scratched her hair and sank into her chair. “Yes. Yes you have.”  
  
“By how long?”  
  
“I...you’re going to be upset.”  
  
“But I would like to know all the same,” Kanna pressed.  
  
“Six bells.” Idertuuya rubbed at her horns. “They left this morning - they have the fastest ship in what’s left of the Maelstrom’s navy, and the Admiral herself charged them with checking out a few island outposts that used to be under Maelstrom control to the east of Limsa Lominsa.”  
  
Kanna absorbed this information in blank silence for several moments before nodding to herself and smiling. “Ah. But that means that your daughter and her shipmates will be returning to Limsa Lominsa fairly soon, yes?”  
  
“Well - yes, that’s true. If you were to stay in Limsa, I guarantee they’d be back within a week, two weeks at the most.”  
  
“Well, then it’s settled. I shall remain in Limsa Lominsa,” Kanna said with a shrug. “I think I shall see if I cannot find work with the Culinarian’s Guild.”  
  
“They will be interested in Hingan and Doman cooking, I assure you,” Idertuuya said. “And, of course, I and my cousin Terbish will be happy to assist you if you ever need help.”  
  
“That is very kind of you, Lady Idertuuya,” Kanna said with a deep bow. “I shall contact you if I have need of assistance, or perhaps simply to speak with you. Please, have a pleasant day.”  
  
“Same to you, Kanna.”  
  
Idertuuya watched the girl leave, then shut the door behind her, sighed, and returned to her ever-growing mountain of paperwork.

 

* * *

 

 

**21ST SUN OF THE FIFTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Somewhere within the Indigo Deep**  
  
  
“Alright, lads, lasses, main crew’s off, second crew to your duties straightaway after you’s eaten! Baatar, how’s the cookpot goin’ this fine evenin’?” Pfarberk shouted from behind the wheel of the Little Kweh.  
  
“Aye, s’good,” Baatar said, taking a spoonful of stew from the large cauldron she was working over in the middle of the main deck. “Oi! You buggers want yer supper, come’n get it!’  
  
The sailors finished whatever they were doing, and quickly formed a line around the little cooking station that tended to be Baatar’s domain most suns; each one took a bowl and spoon from one of the Molkohs, who were working the dish station, and eagerly took ladles of stew in their wooden bowls before plopping down on the deck to eat.  
  
“What’s this, eh?” Arnar asked, blowing on a meat-filled spoonful of stew.  
  
“Ah, we’s had some saltpork an’ dried aldgoat, so I did a stew with the two’ve ‘em. Popotos for filler, some greens for, y’know, not gettin’ the scurvy an’ such,” Baatar explained as the last of the sailors passed by; she then used a pair of cast-iron tongs to remove the partially-spent fire crystals from the stove’s heating chamber and tossed them into a thick metal box, before ladling out bowls of dinner for herself and her two siblings. “Aye, an’ it’ll be spiced this time with garlic, peppers an’ nutmeg, mostly.”  
  
“Fuckin’ good, it is,” Striped Lily said through a mouthful of potato and meat. “You’s ever been thinkin’ of workin’ at the Bismarck?”  
  
“Nah,” Baatar said, sitting down with Xomni’to and Momolk. “That’s a tough job, if there ever was one. Workin’ the sails and such, that’s...that’s labour, aye, but in shifts. Poor sods at the Bismarck - and the Culinarian’s Guild, speakin’ of - that’s a half-sun or more o’ sittin’ in front’ve a hot stove, choppin’ and cookin’ with nary a break.”  
  
“Also, if ye fuck the line the cooks got goin’,” Momolk added, “you’ll be out’ve a job. Here, Pfarberk’ll just flog yer arse a few then it’s back t’work!”  
  
“Aye. An’ how’ll that even be a punishment? Why, I know some’ve us,” T’thoruma said, poking Ototo in the sides, “they’ll be havin’ a real hankerin’ for the floggin’, they do.”  
  
“Ah, shut it,” Ototo shot back. “I’s not the one who listens in on what others’ll be doin in the privacy o’er they’s own bedrooms!”  
  
The sailors all laughed, cheered and picked away at their dinner; soon enough the bell for supper was over, and others from the second shift began clearing away the cooking station from the deck.  
  
“So? What’ll we do?” Xomni’to asked as he, Momolk and Baatar went belowdecks for the first time since the morning. “I’ve a mind to simply get into my hammock and sleep.”  
  
“Ah, come on,” Momolk said, sighing. “Baatar promised to be showin’us how t’fight with axe!”  
  
“I’ve no desire to learn such a thing,” Xomni’to protested. “I’ve got my Carbuncle, and the Captain says he’ll be training me with musket and pistol so that when the Admiralty resumes handing out firearm permits I’ll be carrying a brace of pistols. Any sod gets past my magicks, they’ll be getting a lead ball to the gut.”  
  
“Well how many pistols’ll you be carryin’? You fight long ‘nough, you’ll be a-runnin’ outta loaded pistols,” Momolk argued.  
  
“Then I’ll make do with magic and dagger.”  
  
“Ah, go then! Get yer sleep, y’devil. Come on, you’s gots to be showin’ me how to be handlin’ an axe,” Momolk said, grabbing Baatar by the pant leg and leading her towards the small training pit that stood at the rear of the ship.  
  
“Dunno why’s you’ll be askin’ me to be doin’ this,” Baatar complained. “Pfarberk’s got more skill with the thing than I does.”  
  
“Aye, but he’s a big shite - lookit the size of ‘is axe! All his skills, that’ll have no bearin’ on the basics for a lalafellin lass like me,” Momolk said. “And ‘sides, you doin’ the teachin’ll be good practice for ye too!”  
  
“Aye, I s’pose,” Baatar said, nodding to herself. “So! I knows you can be doin’ a bit o’ work with a dagger, and yer good enough in a brawl. Axin’, though, that’ll be a lil’ different from what yer used to,” Baatar explained as the two took a seat in the fighting pit. “Hrm. Think’ve it...it’s more akin to stick-fightin’, ‘cept one end o’ yer stick’s got a slicer on the end’ve it.”  
  
“Like spearin’?”  
  
“A - hrm. Not quite. So here’s the thing, right,” Baatar said getting up and pulling her well-worn and well-scratched double-bladed axe from the weapons rack. “So, les’ say yer a spearwoman. Aye, both the spear’n me axe have a stick ‘fore the pointy bit, but that’ll be the end of things similar. A spearwoman, she’ll be wantin’ her enemies at weapon’s length away, so’s to be stabbin’ and the like with no fear’a bein’ hit herself. See, the spearin’ thing - sure, if you’s a Roegadyn like the cap’n with’n axe as tall as the masts of the Kweh, sure, that’ll be the same.”  
  
“But for an Auri lass, or a lalfellin one besides,” Momolk said slowly, “that’ll not be so.”  
  
“Aye, you’ve the right’ve it. You’s watched me fight Wyrnzoen ‘fore, aye?”  
  
“I remember stitchin’ yer shoddy remains back together, aye.”  
  
“Ah, sod off - anyhows, did ye notice how our style’s a-fightin’ be different? He’s a big bastard. Big bastard, big axe, big hits. Me, not so much - I’ll be dartin’ round him mad-like, getting up-and-close to be cuttin’ away at ‘im.”  
  
Momolk paused, thinking for a few moments, then nodded. “Aye, aye, I get it. Closer the better, to be blockin’ with th’haft o’ yer axe, and gettin’ good cuts, too.”  
  
Baatar grinned, and nodded. “Sees, with a sword’n’shield, you’s a way to be blockin’ hits and stabbin’ from behind the thing. With cutlass’n’pistol, the goal’ll be to be firin’, then stabbin’ a sod while he’s got lead in ‘is gut. No luck with an axe - you’ll be getting close to see the eyeballs of who you’s fightin, then killin’ im. An’ ‘specially since, for ye, axin’s gonna be a last resort - you’ll be drawin’ the thing when some bastard’s gotten past yer Carbuncle and makes full tilt for ye.”  
  
“So? I gets the idea behind daggers and the like. Avoid the hits, stab the sod. Not so for axin’?”  
  
“Aye, not so. Yer big goal is to get the o’er feller off balance. Man with a shield, or a sod with a pistol, neither’ll be hidin’ or aimin’ if he can’t be standin’. Ideally you’s want the enemy on the ground for a good hit to the neck or summat, but a slash to the throat, wrists, stomach, face - all those’ll work good’n’right, too.” Baatar frowned, paced around Momolk a few times, then sighed. “Hold up.” She set her own axe down, walked over to the rack of lalafell-sized axes, and grabbed both a double and single-bladed axe, setting both in front of Momolk. “Take any one, then go’n smash that dummy o’er there. No worryin’ bout technique or the like - just wail away!”  
  
Momolk grinned, snatched up the double-bladed axe and sprinted over to the training dummy in the corner of the pit, wound up for a swing and grunted in exertion as she brought the weapon into the dummy’s midsection; Momolk wobbled from the momentum of the strike before settling on her feet.  
  
Baatar nodded, arms crossed and expression serious, before jerking her head at the smaller hatchet on the ground. “Again, but with that’n.” She watched as Momolk repeated her attack, this time able to hold her balance slightly better. “Hrm. Again with both.”  
  
Momolk attacked the dummy another dozen times with each weapon before Baatar raised a hand. “Hrm. Me, I’ll be thinkin, if you wants me to be helpin’ ye - I know Ototo’s done a bit of axin’, but she likes the cutlass more - you’d best be stickin’ to the hatchet.”  
  
“I keep wobblin’ and the like after usin’ the big’n,” Momolk noted sadly. “The...the weight, it’ll be a tad off.”  
  
“Aye. It takes some usin’ to be gettin’ used to - best for now, the hatchet’ll be. So! Grab the thing, and let’s get to some basics…”  
  
  


* * *

  
“Gods damn,” Arnar said in a low voice as the sailors - and Momolk - watched Baatar dart around the dummy she’d moved to the centre of the pit, ducking and weaving while maintaining a constant barrage of hits from both her axe’s haft and blade. “No more than a few years’a trainin’ and she fights like a woman possessed.” Arnar shook his head. “It’s the eyes. Ye - if ye look ‘ard enough - ‘member ol Poyi? Navigator rest ‘is soul, but when we did boardin’ on Garlean ships he got that look in’im - bloodlust, I say. Poyi’d be laughin’ ‘is arse off, stabbin’ and shootin’ sods like it were ‘is last day of life.”  
  
Both men, standing at the back of the crowd, looked at one another.  
  
“She’s got the bloodlustin’ and she’s got it hard,” Arnar said, expression both impressed and sad. “Poyi always did kind of scare me when he fought. Same ‘ere.”  
  
Pfarberk let out a whistle. “Aye, that’ll be so. Even so, her technique - a little sloppy in places, aye, but with a bit of workin’ I think Baatar’d be a fuckin’ nightmare to be fightin’, she would. Faster than she looks - and she looks a slippery bitch, she does - and I’ll say she hits harder than her height’ll make ye think.”  
  
“Oi! Cap’n! You oughta be givin’ Baatar ‘ere a spar!” Striped Lily shouted as she and the other crew noticed the Captain and the Commodore down in the hold.  
  
Baatar paused mid-strike, then looked up, eyes wild and a mad grin on her face. “OI! Yeahs! Come’ere, cap! You’ve not fought me fer ages! Come on, then, grab yer blunt-axe and let’s fight!”  
  
“Lass,” Pfarberk said, walking into the ring to the shouts of excitement from his crew, “I’ve not fought you fer ages ‘cause I’ve a boat to be runnin’ - and I’ll whip yer scaly arse like I did las’ time.”  
  
“Ech, fuckin’ try me! I’ve gotten faster since we done the last fight!” Baatar shot back, planting her axe’s haft into the deck.  
  
“I warned ye,” Pfarberk said, throwing his coat to Arnar and pulling a blunted axe styled the same as his own double-bladed weapon from the rack. “Ye’ll not be moanin’ t’me ‘bout how you’ll be achin’ after this.”  
  
“Come’t me,” Baatar hissed. “I’ll put ye’n the ground.”  
  
Her tone was friendly.  
  
Her eyes - only if he looked hard, but it was there - were full of singular drive which only barely concealed an endless, simmering flood of anger and hate. For what, Pfarberk didn’t know - though given the girl’s views on Garleans and their “lack of worth to be breathin’ the same air as us Eorzeans” he was pretty sure he had a rough idea.  
  
 _Arnar was right_ , Pfarberk thought as he stretched his neck and slipped into a fighting stance.  _You are a little nightmare just waitin’ t’be let loose, aren’t ye._  
  
“Right then! Best’a three, no blood drawn, Arnar’ll be the judge of things. Clear?”  
  
“Clear,” Baatar said, readying her axe.  
  
“Right’n! Three, two, one, FIGHT!” Arnar shouted.  
  
Pfarberk blinked and barely had time to react as the (comparatively) tiny Auri woman hurled herself at him, axe readied for a swing at his midsection; he rotated the haft of his axe to block the strike and aimed a kick towards Baatar and cursed under his breath as Baatar sidestepped the kick, rolled around his side and managed to plant her axe into the back of his right leg.  
  
“HIT!” Arnar said as the sailors erupted into shouts.  
  
“Fuckin’ got ye,” Baatar said with a toothy grin.  
  
“Once, ye did,” Pfarberk spat as Baatar returned to her original position. “That’ll not work again. Didn’t think ye’d gotten so fast.”  
  
“Try me. I can go faster,” Baatar said, eyes wild.  
  
“ONE-NOTHIN’ FOR BAATAR! AGAIN! FIGHT!”  
  
Baatar once again launched herself at Pfarberk but was, this time, caught entirely off-guard by the roegadyn aiming a jab at her feet with the haft of his axe; Baatar nearly tripped, but managed to recover, getting to her knees as Pfarberk slammed an overhead strike directly into Baatar’s raised axe. Shouting a garbled battle-cry, Baatar twisted her axe to shove Pfarberk’s weapon out of the way, then sprung into a horned headbut straight into Pfarberk’s crotch, followed by two kicks to the Captain’s nethers. Doubling over in shock - and more than a little pain - Baatar simply tore Pfarberk’s axe from his grip, then aimed a swing at his head, stopping just short of his neck.  
  
“Git ta fuck,” Baatar said, cheering as she returned to her starting position.  
  
“TWO-NOTHIN’ FOR BAATAR!” Arnar paused, doing his best to not join the other sailors in laughing. “Oi, Cap’n, how’ll yer baws be?”  
  
“Ah, shite, fuck off,” Pfarberk grumbled, rubbing at his crotch and getting to his feet. “How’n the hells did you get so good at axin’, Baatar? I’ve barely seen you done trainin’ since we first took y’on.”  
  
Baatar’s expression softened, and a bit of the fire in her eyes drained. “Uh, iunno,” she said, scratching her head. “I do a bit ‘o trainin’ every night ‘fore I sleep - you wouldn’t be seein’ that. An’, well, how’s to say? I like fightin’ a lot?”  
  
“Hrm. Well. Let’s see if ye can pull that’n off again,” Pfarberk said, taking a deep breath and raising his weapon.  
  
“ALRIGHT! AGAIN! THREE! TWO! ONE! FIGHT!”  
  
Baatar, again, charged straight towards Pfarberk - who, this time, simply stepped to the right and raised the haft of his axe to be level with Baatar’s head - and the girl’s own momentum drove the heavy wooden pole into Baatar’s oncoming face.  
  
There was an audible thump as she hit the ground.  
  
“Uh….knock out?” Arnar said as the crew leaned forward.  
  
“Baatar?” Pfarberk said, dropping his weapon and rushing to the young woman’s side. “Oi! Baatar? Baatar!”  
  
The woman groaned and made a quiet gagging noise before sighing and rolling onto her side. “Ototo’s shite-crusted briefs,” she moaned, “that fuckin’ hurt.”  
  
Pfarberk sighed, smiled, and helped her to her feet. “Still got a ways to go in learnin’ simple sense, lass.”  
  
  


* * *

  
**31ST SUN OF THE FIFTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
“So, Miss Minamoto,” the green-skinned roegadyn man said, peering at the sheaf of parchments before him. “I must say, you’ve done...quite well in the preliminary testing.”  
  
“Thank you, Guildmaster Hyllbornsyn,” Kanna said, bowing in her seat. “While I never did work in an institution as storied as that of the Bismarck restaurant,” she said, smiling, “I did cook very often in the barracks where I was posted for enlisted men and officers alike. And while many of my techniques have...equivalents in Eorzean style, there are some which do not. I believe that my culinary knowledge and expertise would only serve to widen the, ah, repertoire and arsenal of those who work here.”  
  
“Hrm. Well, when y’put it like so,” Lyngsath said, nodding, “it does sound like a done deal, don’t it?” He paused, then leaned forward. “Skilled or not, Miss Minamoto, you will be starting from the same place any other soul who’ll be wantin’ to work the Bismarck does.”  
  
“Washing dishes?” Kanna asked, head cocked slightly.  
  
“Eh? No, no, everyone washes dishes, even me when the time’s free ‘nough to be allowin’ it. No, you’d be startin’ as a prep cook. Two moons’a that - less, if you’ve got the passion, patience and workin’ ethic of a rare sort - and you’ll be on the line proper.”  
  
“I am happy to hear as such,” Kanna said, bowing again. “I am deeply grateful for your accepting of my application.”  
  
“Don’t be thankin’ me, Miss - prepwork’s hard, the hours long an’ the pay - well, it’s not bad, not by any stretch, aye - but yer finger’s will be tired every day o’ the week.”  
  
Kanna shrugged. “That is the point of proper work, is it not? Dedication to one’s craft?”  
  
Lyngsath smirked and snorted a laugh. “You’d be surprised, Miss, how many people come a-walkin’ in here thinkin’ that’ll not be the case for’em.”  
  
“Perhaps it is good, then, that I harbour no such illusions, Guildmaster.”  
  
“We’ll be seein’, I s’pose.”  
  
“When will I begin work?”  
  
“It’s...thirty past noon,” Lyngsath said, consulting the chronometer on his desk. “Return, dressed for work, at four, please. Oh, and, uh, you might want to be leavin’ your blades at home.”  
  
“I….I am willing to part with one of them,” Kanna said, patting the black scabbard which hung below the first of her swords, “but I cannot relinquish the first. It is a gift, forged by my mother. I will not carry it with me during work - that would be preposterous - but I shall want to keep it within sight or knowledge of my person, if it pleases you.”  
  
“Hmm. We do have storage lockers - fair enough,” Lyngsath said, nodding. “Do you have your own knives and such?”  
  
“Not for cooking, no. Merely some short-blades I use for throwing in combat; I have used them for cooking before, but more out of necessity than want.”  
  
“Fair enough - maybe bring one, just so we can be seein’ how you handle a knife. We’ll provide the rest. Now go on and get some rest, and make sure to come with a full stomach - you’ll be workin’ all the way ‘til the end of the night shift, without breaks ‘less you need to relieve yourself. Clear?”  
  
“Eminently so, Guildmaster. I shall return at the appointed bell.” Kanna got up, bowed, and smiled. “Thank you again for accepting me.”  
  
“It’ll be no trouble,” Lyngsath said, getting to his feet and escorting Kanna out of his office.  
  
And indeed it was no trouble; having rested, eaten a hearty lunch-dinner of fish stew and leaving her old Sekiseigumi standard-issue katana in the long-term inn-room she called home, Kanna donned a set of simple hempen robes she’d purchased a few days earlier, slung Akatsuki on her back along with one of her tanto and arrived - according to the chronometer post outside - at the Bismarck restaurant at exactly five-minutes-to-four in the afternoon.  
  
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kanna pushed open the massive red double-doors of the restaurant and the Culinarian’s Guild and walked over to the reception desk, which sat to the side of the outdoor dining area. A young miqo’te woman, grey-haired and wearing the simple red-white uniform of the Bismarck’s waitstaff sat behind the desk, taking a linkpearl call; upon seeing Kanna, she smiled, waved and pointed at her ear.  
  
“Yes, of course,” the woman said, returning to a large, worn book on her desk. “I’ll have a spot for you and your party next Watersday at nine in the evening - yes - yes. The Bismarck’s more or less in the same location, so while I can’t guarantee that it’ll be the exact same view you’ve enjoyed previously, it’ll be similar, Ser Gegejuru. Right. Well,” the woman said, scribbling in her book, “I hope you have a pleasant day and you have any more questions, concerns or needs for your reservation please do not hesitate to call. Good day.” The woman sighed, then set her quill down and beckoned at Kanna. “Apologies. Big client, that was. So, you’ll be Kanna? Kanna Minamoto?” the woman said, looking Kanna up and down.  
  
“Yes. That would be me,” Kanna replied, bowing slightly.  
  
“Hmm. Chef Hyllbornsyn said you were Au Ra, he did, but you don’t look at all like the ones who’ve been living here before.”  
  
“How to explain - it is akin to how your people can be split between sunseeker and moonkeeper,” Kanna explained. “The other Au Ra in the city - they were, are, called Xaela.”  
  
“Right. They used to be nomads, right? Living on the wild-plains of their old lands?”  
  
“That is so. I myself am Raen; born and raised in a city not entirely unlike Limsa Lominsa,” Kanna explained.  
  
“Huh! Well you learn something new every sun, don’t you. Well, I’m H'lahono - Hostess of the Bismarck. Things haven’t quite ramped up for the day, so just head on back to the kitchens, and speak with Jossy - she’ll be the hyuran lady, blonde-haired, working in the provisions section. She’ll be guiding you today.”  
  
“Thank you, H'lahono,” Kanna said, bowing once more. Past the reception area and behind the counters was the open door to the Bismarck’s kitchens, and as she crossed the threshold Kanna could not help but stop in awe. The kitchens here were as organized and as clean as any she’d seen in Kugane, but where the fanciest of restaurants she’d been in (on the Sekiseigumi’s coin, too) prior had possessed a quiet, focused atmosphere, a sort of focused realm of artisans, the Bismarck’s kitchens reminded her more of a military operation. Rather than the personalized workspaces of the cooks back home, here there were obvious, clearly defined stations laid out in neat rows; Lyngsath alternated between overseeing the operation from the raised entrance that Kanna was standing in, stopping his orders to occasionally descend into the kitchen itself to taste something or take over a stage of cooking. Younger cooks worked further away from the output end of the line, and in the very back the most junior of the system ferried prepared ingredients from a doorway marked Provisions and Coldroom.  
  
“Kanna,” Lyngsath shouted as he returned from the kitchen floor. He stopped, shook her hand then consulted a pocket-chronometer chained to his belt before nodding and jerking a head towards the rear of the room. “Jossy’ll be waitin’ for you - get moving.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
“No thanks - just get t’work.”  
  
Kanna descended into the kitchen and slinked around the sides of the room, doing her best to stay out of everyone’s way; nobody paid her any attention, so focused were they on their work. Upon making her way to the provisioning area, Kanna walked up to the small desk set into the side of the wall, where a trio of workers checked with junior cooks and assistants, logging each and every order and the ingredients being pulled out of storage as they passed by. Jossy, the hyuran woman overseeing the system, stood up and smiled upon seeing Kanna.  
  
“Oi, you’ll be the new lass, eh?” Jossy said with a grin. “Y’look the part, I’ll say.”  
  
“Thank you, Miss Jossy.”  
  
“No need t’be thankin’ me - follow, please, and we’ll be getting ye started.” Kanna followed her through the Provisions and Coldroom doorway, which led into a long hallway full of side-rooms; they walked for nearly a minute before nearing the end of the hall and entering a locker room. “Here’s yours,” Jossy said, pulling open one of the wooden lockers. “Y’can put yer big sword in ‘ere for nows - she’ll be kept safe.”  
  
Kanna unslung Akatsuki and placed it into the locker slowly, then sighed as she shut the door and removed the key.  
  
“Important to ye?” Jossy asked.  
  
“Yes. My mother forged the blade for me as a gift, before I came to Eorzea.”  
  
“Hmm. Well, it’ll be safe - there’ll only be the one way in ‘ere, and I’ll let the folks outside know any sod with a sword who’s not you’s a thief.”  
  
“I appreciate it,” Kanna said, pulling her tanto off the sling. “Guildmaster Hyllbornsyn-”  
  
“-aye, and there’ll be yer first lesson,” Jossy said with a grin. “It’s Chef Hyllbornsyn, if you’ll be wantin’ t’work the lines. Guildmaster, that’ll be for Culinarians - folks who train ‘n do part-time work. But if you’ll want to be workin’ at the Bismarck, then you call ‘im Chef.”  
  
“Ah. My apologies. Chef Hyllbornsyn said that I ought to bring one of my small-blades, to demonstrate my knifework.”  
  
“He did, did’e? Well,” Jossy said, scratching at her hat, “that’s...we have knives here, y’know.”  
  
Kanna shrugged.  
  
“Eh, I s’pose it’ll be good t’see how you handle a blade you’re comfortable with. Alright, with me.” Jossy left the locker room and weaved past a few junior cooks carrying supply crates into another room - this one chilled by boxes of open ice-crystals and full of junior cooks hard at work breaking down the carcasses of various animals, washing vegetables and cutting them up before transferring them into crates. “So! Welcome to the prep centre - now, Chef Hyllbornsyn says while you don’t have restaurant kitchen experience, you did do cooking in the military?”  
  
“That is correct. I also have a little bit of knowledge regarding the proper methods of killing, butchering and harvesting of wild animals,” Kanna noted proudly, “and every person in the outfit I was in was required to spend time in the mess hall preparing meals.”  
  
“Well, that’ll come in handy, I think.” Jossy led Kanna over to an empty spot on the long wooden table where the others worked, and placed a dozen large yellow onions in front of her. “So! You see how Goodwin and Susuli are dicin’ theirs?” Jossy said, gesturing at the goggle-clad hyuran man and lalafellin woman across the table. “That’s what I’ll be wantin’ - ye can start with yer small-blade, jus’ to be seein’ what you’d do if ye were lackin’ a proper cook’s knife. Talk me through’t.”  
  
Kanna nodded, unsheathed her tanto and sliced an onion in half, before peeling the skins off. “To achieve a proper, even dice, I shall take a half-onion,” Kanna explained, “then fan out my cuts at an angle. In this manner, I will avoid the necessity of a parallel cut later - which would be necessary if I were to cut straight down - providing me with better control and precision.” Kanna quickly and dexterously sliced across the onion at a curving angle across the onion, her cuts reaching almost to the roots until she’d finished lengthwise; then she rotated the onion so that her knife was perpendicular to the previous cuts, and diced the onion until she reached the root. “There is my dice; I shall repeat the process around the root, as to not waste any of the edible parts of the onion.” In less than ten seconds, Kanna’s workstation had a small onion-root on one side and a neat, perfectly formed pile of small onion cubes on the other. “We may keep this root for use in soups, or the like.”  
  
Jossy let out a low whistle. “Oi, oi, that’ll not be bad at all, it won’t.”  
  
“Quick-like, y’are,” Goodwin said, looking up from his work. “Now that I thinks it, I never did think to be cuttin’ at an angle.”  
  
“Aye,” Susuli agreed. “Parallel-cuttin’s always the worst part. Can ye be doin’ that again?”  
  
“Of course.” Kanna repeated the process with the rest of the onions Jossy had given her, slowly at first, speeding up with each one.  
  
“Well,” Jossy said, shrugging, “I think you can be trusted by yourselves here, then.” She gestured at a small pile of neatly-stacked crates in the corner behind her. “Goodwin ‘n Susuli can be tellin’ ye what needs done - namely, every vegetable inside that there stack needs cubin’ or cuttin’, then transferred int’a clean crate and then brough oe’er to the coldroom for storin’. Oh, and if ye’ll be needin’ a knife - here,” Jossy said, plucking an Eorzean chef’s knife from a nearby rack. “Take’t - just don’t be throwin’ it around and it’ll serve ye until you buys one for yerself.”  
  
Kanna took the knife and practiced cutting with it several times; it resembled the santoku and gyuto she’d used back home.  
  
“Thank you, Jossy. I will be sure to treat it with care,” Kanna said, bowing.  
  
“Heh. Well, have fun, Kanna - if ye get through the crates there, Goodwin’ll know what needs to be done.” Kanna watched Jossy leave the prep room, and turned to Goodwin - who was grinning as he emptied a crate of onions and garlic onto the workstation.  
  
“Kanna, eh? Glad to be workin’ with ye - it gets boring down here in the prep-pit.”  
  
“Aye,” Susuli added. “An’ ano’er lass, that’ll be nice - Twelve know ol’ Goodwin ‘ere’s not fit for women-talk. Now you’s an Au Ra, hmm?”  
  
Kanna sighed as she and the others began cutting away into their pile of onions. “Yes, and I’m not like the others you have seen - the Xaela.”  
  
The day passed into night as easily as anything; the work, while tiring, was not difficult by any stretch of the imagination. Between telling tales about her homeland and its culture, and hearing much the same from Goodwin and Susuli, the hours passed and before Kanna had realized it was ten in the evening and they’d exhausted the crates of vegetables Jossy had instructed them to work on.  
  
“So! Kanna!” Lyngsath shouted, appearing in the doorway. “How’re you doin’ this fine evening?”  
  
“Good, Chef Hyllbornsyn. The work has been easy enough; Apprentices Goodwin and Susuli have kept good company with their stories and tales,” Kanna said, bowing and stretching her arms.  
  
“Heh. That so? Susuli, yer thoughts on Kanna?”  
  
“She’s a good lass - hard workin’, barely asks for breaks, has a fine eye an’ mind. Frankly, after we’ll be teachin’ ‘er the basics of Eorzean cookery, it’ll be a waste keepin’ her down ‘ere,” the lalafellin woman said with a shrug.  
  
“Comin’ from you, that’s fine praise,” Lyngsath said with a surprised look on her face. “Kanna, to be truthful, Susuli here isn’t no apprentice - she’s actually the Bismarck’s best sauce-maker and saute-cook.”  
  
Kanna blinked.  
  
“Oh,” was all she could muster.  
  
“Aye, an’ Goodwin’ll be just a tad junior t’me. I’ll say, you’re a fine a student as I’ve ever seen - Goodwin ‘ere didn’t have half th’ethic you have when he started,” Susuli said with a grin as she elbowed Goodwin in the arm.  
  
“Well, consider yerself hired,” Lyngsath said, nodding approvingly. “Come in tomorrow - six in the mornin’ sharp-like - and we’ll get you fitted with uniform and a proper set’a tools.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**7TH SUN OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
“I’ll take your report,” Merlwyb said, leaning back in her chair as Pfarberk and Arnar looked at each other, then around her office, then at her - their expressions grim.  
  
“Ah...I hates to be sayin’ it, Admiral, but, uh, it’s not good,” Pfarberk said sadly. “You gave us a list’ve three dozen Maelstrom postin’s - we found none’v’em.”  
  
“Hmph. How so?”  
  
“Well, the islands,” Arnar explained, “most’ve ‘em were just...gone. Not there. An’ we were sure to be lookin’ several days ‘round the area’ve each one, too - explains our lateness comin’ home. And landin’ zones - gone, too. I’d wager the waves swallowed’em whole.”  
  
“Damnation. What about Pharos Sirius? Could you get close?”  
  
“Nay. All th’waters ‘round the Isles of Umbra are a right toss-up - there’s giant rocks what weren’t there ‘fore the Calamity everywhere,” Pfarberk groused, “an’ plenty o’ those damned cursed-crystals, too. Came damn close to smashin’ the Little Kweh on the things, too.”  
  
Admiral Merlwyb stopped and considered the report in silence for a few moments, then sighed. “Very well. I’ll not punish you merely for being the messengers of bad news. In any case, a job well done - you’ll be paid handsomely for the effort, of course. The Maelstrom will rebuild - your maps and charts will be very useful, I’m sure.”  
  
“Thank’ye, Admiral,” Pfarkberk said with a nod.  
  
“Now, if you lot are interested, I do have more work available,” Merlwyb said, smiling slightly. “The Maelstrom - others, too, but primarily us - have finally managed to make reliable linkpearl contact with the Sharlayan government.”  
  
“What, those pansy-arseholes? Who’s to care what those book-lovin’ idiots’ll want?” Anar spat, before flinching as a nearby arcanist working at one of Merlwyb's communications stations shot a glare at him. “I mean, not that likin’ books is bad or nothin’-”  
  
“-it’s fine,” Merlwyb said. “I understand the gist of what you mean.”  
  
“What I meant was, well... Didn’t they turn tail’n run from Eorzea when we needed them most, the cu- uh, arseholes?” Arnar snapped.  
  
“The scholars of Old Sharlayan are, ahem, ‘arbiters of knowledge and lore, not warriors and conquerors,’” Merlwyb said in a mocking tone. “In any case, they’ve not had any regular shipments of goods from the Eorzean realm since the Calamity and apparently the lack of trade has been bad enough to warrant the government asking that we resume official relations - minimal as they were - with them. Now, normally this would warrant an official Maelstrom vessel being present, but to be perfectly frank the Maelstrom - and myself - have better things to do than be commiserating with a bunch of cowards who’d sooner lock themselves in their towers than fight back against the Garleans.”  
  
“Ah,” Pfarberk said slowly, nodding. “But, of course, a message an’ token o’ goodwill, that could be carried by a bunch’a normal sailors like us, aye?”  
  
“Indeed, Captain Pfarberk. If it so pleases you, the Maelstrom would be happy to pay you a small fee to carry out a mission to Sharlayan - and, of course, if you were able to carry along and sell any other goods on top of the items requested by their government that profit would be yours to keep.”  
  
“Aye, I ken,” Pfarberk replied. “Give us a sun, though - we’ll be wantin’ to check o’er the Little Kweh, make sure she’s up for the trip.”  
  
“There’s no need, actually. That old shell you left for us at the Moraby Drydocks?” Admiral Merlwyb said, smirking. “Well, we needed something to test the workers on, make sure we got our mass-production system working properly again. So you can leave the Little Kweh there - and swap it out for the newly-completed  _Bigger Kweh_ , I believe you wanted her called.”  
  
“But...but...but the coin, we hadn’t - and - Admiral, you didn’t need t’be goin’ and finishin’ my ship quick-like,” Pfarberk said, shaking his head in awe. “Gods, that’s-”  
  
“-it’s not a favour, Captain. It’s a transaction. The Maelstrom got working experience for its newer builders who were unfamiliar with our construction-line system and managed to test out our methods on a reasonably-sized ship. In return, you’ll be saving the Maelstrom the trouble of sparing one of our few ships on an idiotic waste of resources.”  
  
“Aye, aye, that’s a thing I’ll be agreein’ with,” Arnar said, laughing.  
  
“Favour or no, you’ve me thanks,” Pfarberk added with a grin. “Gives me’n my crew a few bells to be sortin’ things out, and then we’ll be off to Moraby quick-like.”  
  
“Excellent. You’ll be expected,” Merlwyb said, nodding. “Now get out of my office.”

 

* * *

 

 

  
**24TH SUN OF THE SIXTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Garlean Imperial Army Headquarters, Ala Mhigo**

 

Gaius glared at his maps.

They stared back at him, silent in their mockery.

Not only had he failed at taking - at saving - Eorzea from itself, Nael had to go and carry out his mad plan to ruin the continent with that idiotic moon-dragon of his.

Nael van Darnus.

_There_ , Gaius thought,  _was a man who could not - would not - see the bigger picture. Content to rule over a pile of rubble and ash, the fool._

Just thinking about him made Gaius want to go outside and find something to fight. How a Garlean - a Garlean Legatus, of all people - could debase themselves to rely on something as low as a dragon - or dropping the  _moon_  on top of the place he was supposed to be conquering, of all things, set his mind stirring with furious frustration.

He looked back at the maps, seething.

For eleven  _fucking_  years he and his men had been sitting in Ala Mhigo with their thumbs in their asses, watching their countless numbers of trained soldiers do nothing but lightly skirmish at the border and take potshots at civilian airships while the true, all-powerful might of the Garlean war machine sat in occupied Ala Mhigan territory, staring across the border at Gridania and the unconquered lands beyond.

Gunships running patrols over a city that had been theirs for sixteen years. Magitek armours having to be repaired - not from battle, but from  _rats_  chewing through their wiring, since nobody was using the things. Endless days of drills. Chasing Ala Mhigans who thought it a good idea to blow up the odd vehicle or two before being caught and killed without trouble - or losing them into the wilds.

Gaius had not had the pleasure of a serious military campaign for more than a decade - at best, all he could hope for was the occasional fight with a band of poorly-trained and even less skilled Ala Mhigan “resistance” fighters - and, loathe as he was to admit it, the waiting was getting to him. True, any military man of worth understood the meaning and importance of patience - but even his nerves were beginning to fray. Perhaps if he’d deigned to return to Garlemald and wait there for the instruction to resume the invasion, his mind would be more at ease, but the thought of Eorzean territory sitting not more than a sun’s travel away, ripe for the taking, was chipping away at the cermet will he prided himself on having.

“Frustrating, isn’t it,” a smooth, low voice said from behind him; without even thinking Gaius drew his gunblade and rammed it into the stomach area of the voice’s source. He wheeled around when he realized that the blade hadn’t pierced flesh or bounced off armour, and stared as a black-hooded figure wearing a red mask of unknown make and shape looked down at the blade in their midsection. “Alas, I’m afraid that your gunblade will not serve you in harming me,” the man - and it was a man’s voice - said with a shrug.

Gaius withdrew the blade - watched it pass through the man as though he were nothing more than a spectre - and held it at the ready. “Identify yourself.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Explain how you got into my office, past all of my guards and sentry systems.”

“I’d rather not,” the man said, smirking beneath his red mask.

Gaius narrowed his eyes. “Clearly you find yourself in a position of superiority. If you’re not here to kill me, or steal my documents, get on with your speech or leave.”

“Gaius, Gaius - can I call you that? I think I will,” the man said, shrugging. “I’ve come to you because I need your help.”

“Then speak.”

“Ah.” Gaius flinched as the man simply  _disappeared_  and reappeared next to him, examining the wall-mounted map of Eorzea. “So. You see, I find myself in a conundrum. I am but one man, and I have a goal in mind. But, sadly, being one man, I find that though I can be anywhere when I want to be, I can only be in one place at a time. But you, Gaius, you - by proxy - can be in many places. The XIVth Legion of the Garlean Imperial Army is...capable of a great deal of reach w-.”

“-if you are simply going to stand here and spout basic figures at me I suggest you consider getting to the point,” Gaius snapped.

“Goodness, Gaius, please, it’s rude to interrupt someone before they’ve finished speaking,” the man said, feigning offense. “As I was going to say, I would find my goals...easier to achieve, if those primitive Eorzeans had something to focus on. Say, an entire Imperial Legion’s might coming to bear against them?”

“As much as I would greatly enjoy crushing Eorzea beneath my boots, if you believe that I am going to invade Eorzea on the whims of someone who obviously intends to simply use me to his own ends, against the will of my own Emperor, then you are as stupid as you are irritating.”

“Oh! But who said I would be having you do this on a whim? I don’t believe in favours, not when it comes to matters of import,” the man said with a placating gesture. “No, I do have something to offer you - in fact, when you, ah, learn of the gift I intend for you, I think it will not matter what my goal is, or what you think of me. In fact, I think once you have your hands on the item in question you’ll be invading Eorzea entirely of your own volition.” He paused, then smiled. “Regardless of what your Emperor thinks.”

Gaius stared at the man from behind his mask for nearly a minute.

“I am not agreeing to your transaction,” Gaius said slowly. “First, you will tell me what this gift of yours is. Second, you will tell me what goal you have in mind.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer the second question - it’s a...sensitive matter. But as for the first? Well. Let us say, then, that both of us are aware of the issue posed by what those Eorzean savages call ‘Primals’ - the gods of beastmen and savage alike, brought to life by prayer, aether and crystal.”

“The eikons? What of them?” Gaius said cautiously.

“Well,” the man replied, “as much as they have troubled the Garlean Empire, surely you must understand, must intuit, that as long as men of power have existed, so too have weaker ones who would rely not on their own strength, but that of their false gods to protect them.”

“Continue.”

“And what men of power were there, in all of history, who were as powerful as the Allagans, hmm? Gone they may be now, but surely you would think they would possess something, some solution to the ‘Primal’ problem.” The man’s smile grew wider, somehow. “And I have come this day to tell you - they did. The Allagans may have destroyed themselves, yes, but in the height of their power they did have a tool at their disposal, purpose-built for eliminating these false gods.”

“And, what, you will tell me where to find this weapon?” Gaius said, snorting a laugh. “Hah! Unfortunately for you, I have no intentions of sending my soldiers on a wild chase based on the tales of some masked charlatan.”

The man took a step away from the wall of maps and pointed down.

“Beneath your feet, Gaius.”

“Excuse me?”

“Somewhere in Ala Mhigan territory - why, it might very well be under Ala Mhigo itself - lies this Allagan construction. The Ultima Weapon. Untold power at your hands, constructed solely for one purpose and one purpose only: the elimination of these ‘Primals’ you so despise.”

“You’ve still provided no proof.”

“I suppose I have not,” the man said, nodding. He flickered, and Gaius scowled as a small rectangular slab of metal popped into existence on his desk. “Here. An Allagan tomestone. I’m sure one of your computers will make quick work of the encryption. You will find, within, instructions, information and more about the Ultima Weapon - as well as...what things to look for, the signifiers one might examine to locate it, should you deign to search for it.”

“And I assume that, upon taking this tomestone, you expect me to do as you say. Invade Eorzea.”

“Oh, no, nothing of the sort,” the man replied, waving him off. “Do with it as you like. If you decide that...my venture is of no interest to you, that having a tool as useful as the Ultima Weapon is not something you desire, then I will leave you alone. Toss the tomestone away. Pass it along to someone else. Eat it, if that is what you wish. The tomestone is yours to do with as you please.”

“I’ll no-”

Gaius stopped as the man simply vanished; there was no sign of teleportation magic, no change in the air around him.

He did not move.

Not for several minutes.

Finally he poked at the small grey slab sitting on his desk with the tip of his gunblade, moving it around a little before he decided that it was safe enough to touch. Holding it in his armoured hands, it looked like any other relic of long-gone Allag; a smooth, grey slab, embossed with sleek lines.

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained._

He stormed out of his office; his assistant, Faustus pyr Vibalia, followed at his side.

“Legatus,” Faustus said with a frown, “where are we headed?”

“To the Armorum, Optio Principalis. An object of interest was among the packages delivered to me this morning - we need to speak to Manius and his engineers at once.”

 

* * *

  
**5TH SUN OF THE SIXTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 1 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Somewhere in the Indigo Deep  
**

Life aboard the  _Bigger Kweh_  was strange, Baatar thought. The ship was almost double the size of the Little Kweh, and though the jobs the crew had onboard were more or less the same as before, the crew was stretched much thinner; before, they’d simply split the sailors into two crew to rotate between. Now, groups of three or four would rotate off-duty unless the Captain thought it was clear sailing for the next stretch; Baatar had already been more than a little miffed that their next destination was an entire island-nation of scholars, and now she was exhausted on top of that.

Still, that meant that whenever the captain did give them downtime, it was all the sweeter - and the fact that the Captain had pulled all the crew aside after lunch to make some sort of announcement.

“Now, I know here’s roughly the time when you’s lot will normally be bellyachin’ ‘bout how lunchtime weren’t long enough or the like. BUT! Today,” Captain Pfarberk said with evident glee, “today’s I have a real gift for ye lot.”

“You goin’ to be makin’ me cap’n?” Momolk shouted.

“Momolk for cap’n, aye, that’ll be a life to be livin’,” T’throuma shouted approvingly.

“Oi, shut it! I’s talkin’! Now, like I did tell you ‘fore we left Moraby, the Kweh’s lil’ family is lookin’ mighty good in th’eyes o’ the Maelstrom - an’ so, since this’ll be a right dip-lo-matic mission we’s been granted this!” Pfarberk said with a flourish, pulling a tarp off a large crate.

“Ho-lee shite! A box! I love boxes,” Baatar yelled. “Y’shouldn’t have!”

“Fuck off, or you’ll not be gettin’ at what’s inside! Now look ‘ere - this’ll be a sign that th’Admiral, Navigator keep her, trusts us real good-like, aye. Behold!” Pfarbek unlatched the lid of the box and pulled out a long-barreled musket, its wood in pristine condition. “We’s gone an’ gotten ourselves the first batch ‘o gun-permits given since the Calamity, folks!”

The deck of the  _Bigger Kweh_  erupted into cheers and shouts until, a minute later, the Captain cut them off with a stomp of his foot; he was about to say something when Striped Lily raised a hand.

“Right, but we’s had guns long ‘fore today,” the roegadyn woman said with a frown.

“No we haven’t,” Pfarberk said.

“But the blunderbus-”

“No,  _we haven’t_ ,” Pfarberk said, crossing his arms. “But as it turns out, the Admiral’s shipment of crates just so happens to have some extras, ken?”

“Right. I ken,” Striped Lily said with a raised eyebrow.

“Anycase! So! We’ve got pistols, blunderbuss and musket alike. Now, ‘ceptin’ those’ve ye who were sailors on the Kweh ‘fore the Calamity, how many of you’s knows how to be usin’ a gun?”

Nobody raised their hands.

“A’right, well, now’s the time to be learnin’! So, all the guns work more’r less the same - so I’ll be showin’ ye with the musket,” Pfarberk said, showing it to the sailors. “I trust, though, that th’idea’ve a gun’s familiar t’all’ve you?”

“Aye,” Momolk said, nodding. “Y’put the shot in, the powder in, y’use the fire-crystal to make sparks, then it goes bang! An’ some poor sod’s got a lead shot in ‘is gut.”

“That’s the basics of it, aye. Now, knowin’ the thing and bein’ able to do it fast-like, though? That’s the real difficulty. So! First thin’s first, we’ll be learnin how t’hold one right. There’ll only be two sizes - lalafell, and not, so come grab one!”

Baatar stepped forward with the others to take one of the muskets, which had a small pouch tied to its stock; she’d seen drawings of people wielding them, but never had done so herself, and the long, oddly-shaped tubular weapon somehow felt wrong in her hands.

“So! Rule one of musketry - keep the business end’a the damn things up in th’air - you do not point yer gun at anythin’ you’ll not want dead, y’hear?” Pfarberk shouted. “I mean it! And that’ll be rollin’ int’a rule two - your gun’s loaded, even if ye think it’s not. You ken?”

“Aye,” Xomni’to said, nodding as he examined his weapon. “Y’never know if your gun might still be loaded or something. Best to just assume it is, at least while you’re not in combat.”

“That’s it - Master Molkoh’s got the right’ve it! So - ye don’t point yer gun at nothin’ ye want to be breathin’. Ye don’t treat yer gun like it’ll not be loaded. And, ‘til yer ready to be blastin’ away’t somethin’, y’keep yer damn fingers off yer triggers, clear?”

The sailors all murmured their assent, and Pfarberk nodded. “I’ll be serious-like, though. ‘Tis no joke. Trus’ me - back ‘fore the ol’ captain done died, he hisself were shot by a sailor with a wayward finger. We had to be diggin’ a bullet out’ve his leg and it were ugly, I tells you. Now! Loadin’ a musket’s easy as shite! In each of yer pouches, you’ll be findin’ a paper cartrige, like this’n,” Pfarberk said, holding up a small paper cylinder. “Now watch! First, y’take the top of this cartridge an ye bite the twisted bit ‘ere off,” Pfarbk said, before raising the cylinder to his mouth. He tore open the top and spat out the paper, before pouring the firesand within into the muzzle of the gun. “Next, ye shove the bullet on the oe’er end in, and ye ram it ‘ome - hard!”

Baatar watched with interest as Pfarberk pulled a ramrod out of the tube beneath the barrel and slammed it into the barrel several times; he returned it to its tube, then aimed out into the open sea and shouldered the weapon, cocking the inert fire-shard hammer back.

“Now! Y’keep the stock right in yer shoulder, hold it steady, and ye want the sights lined so yer target’s square in th’middle. Pull that trigger, and-”

Baatar flinched as an ear-splitting crack echoed through the air; a blast of smoke shot out of the muzzle of the musket, and Pfarberk turned around with a massive grin on his face. “So? How’s we have a go, then?”

The crew spent the next bell or so testing out their new weapons; they also tried firing pistols - which Baatar figured were basically just small muskets - and found that, despite the obvious lethality of the weapons, that their slow reload times rubbed her the wrong way. Worse, the only options for turning the thing into a melee weapon was either as a club, using the stock, or as a makeshift spear by mounting a blade on the end.

Pistols seemed interesting, though, and when they began practicing with those Baatar considered that maybe she ought to carry a brace of the things - that is, until Pfarberk showed them the blunderbusses (both rifle and pistol-sized) at the bottom of the chest. As Pfarberk noted, what he and many other sailors called “shot-guns” could be made incredibly compact without a loss in accuracy - because accuracy wasn’t the point of these weapons. Rather, one filled the blunderbuss with anywhere between six and “many” round shot into the barrel - unlike the conical bullets of the musket - and hoped to spray a target down with a cloud of lead.

By the end of the training session, Baatar was convinced that she’d be purchasing a full brace of cut-down blunderbuss pistols - because, as Arnar had put it, “a sod with a lead ball in ‘is gut might rightly be hurtin’, but six lead balls’ll be tearin’ the bastards’s kneecaps right out.”

Baatar liked the sound of that very much.

They were floating the last of their small targets out to sea - small buoys attached to the ship by rope, each one holding a small piece of thin balsa wood, when Pfarberk shushed the crew and grinned.

“You lot wanna see somethin’ special?” He pat Xomni’to - who Baatar had figured was training like everyone else - on the back, then laid out six pistols and a pistol-brace on the deck in front of him. “Come on, lad, do it like last time.”

Xomni’to nodded, and strapped on the pistol brace before loading each weapon as though he’d been firing pistols his whole life; leaving the guns uncocked, he holstered all of the guns, then stepped up to the railing of the ship.

“Six targets, six shots,” Pfarberk called. “Targets from between fifty to one hundred-thirty yalms. Whenever you’re ready, lad.”

“Bollocks,” Striped Lily said with a frown. “I’ll not be hittin’ a thing a ‘undred yalms away with a musket - and you’ll be wantin’ Xomni to be doin’ it? One his firs’ day? Wi’ a pistol, no less?”

“Shut up and let the boy think,” Pfarberk shot back.

Xomni’to’s eyes flitted about as he focused; Baatar recognized the expression on his face as the same one he wore when working on his magic arrays. A few moments later, he twitched slightly and suddenly drew two pistols, firing both; as quickly as he’d done so he’d already holstered them, drawn the next pair, fired, then did so again with the third set.

The sailors rushed to the railings and looked on in awe; all six targets had holes in them, if not dead center, then near enough.

“ _Gods damn_ ,” Arnar said, whistling. “That is some fine marksmanship ye just did, lad.”

Xomni’to shrugged. “‘Tis not that hard. Not like it’s swordfighting or the like - gunnery’s just angles and arithmetics. Some wind, too.”

“Aye, y’say that,” T’thoruma said, squinting as she looked at the targets. “But non’ve us’ll be doin’ that, I wager.”

“Well, perhaps there’s something to be said for spending time reading my books, hmm?” Xomnii’to said with a shrug, unholstering the pistols and taking the brace off. “

“Shite. Y’think it’s too late fer me to be learnin’ maths?” Baatar asked Momolk.

“Baatarsaikhan, ‘tis never too late to be learnin’ figures,” Momolk said, patting Baatar on the knee. “Tomorrow we can be startin’ with numbers from one ta ten, and then - don’t worry, ‘tis easier then’t sounds - we’ll do additions!”

“Fuck off! I’ll be puttin’ shot into yer kneecaps, Momo.”

“That would require you to aim,” Xomin’to said, loading his pistols back into the weapons crate. “Might be best to stick with hitting things."

Baatar opened her mouth, shut it with an audible click, and grumbled as she returned her blunderbuss to the weapon crate.

 

 


	9. INTERLUDE: YEAR TWO

**1ST SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Off the coast of the Isle of Val, Old Sharlayan**  
  
  
“LAND HO! LAND HO!”  
  
“Llymlaen’s sweet bosom, land ho!”  
  
Baatar and the other sailors cheered as the bruised and battered ship began making its way towards the Isle of Val, the Old Sharlayan continent’s southernmost island. By all accounts, travelling by boat between Limsa Lominsa and the Sharlayan continent should have taken no more than a moon at most - but as the crew of the Bigger Kweh had found out, the Calamity had radically changed the waters between the city-states. In between dodging massive rock and crystal formations the size of small mountains and dealing with weather as bad as Baatar had ever seen upon open waters, it had taken them nearly two entire moons to arrive. The crew had celebrated Starlight in the cold, damp hold of the ship with a luxurious meal (compared to the rations they’d been eating) which used more or less the last of the ship’s meat; now it was the third day of Heavensturn, first of the new year, and Baatar could think of no better Heavensturn gift than the promise of a safe port in which to dock and resupply.  
  
It was as though Llymlaen herself had blessed the ship; the foul weather of the previous suns had cleared into an overcast sky and the bone-chilling winds (while still cold) had abated slightly. In short order the Bigger Kweh soon came within viewing distance of Sharlayan itself - queer towers marked with glowing glyphs stood in the distance, and up close by the pier were countless grey-stone structures, almost all uniformly constructed. The pier the ship made its way to was a small one, holding spots for no more than a dozen ships, and as the Bigger Kweh prepared to drop anchor Baatar noticed that a small group of what she assumed were scholars of some sort were standing just beyond the piers, waiting. Once docked, Arnar and the front crew lowered the ramp, and a handful of the scholarly-looking folk ascended the ramp. Pfarberk stepped forward to meet them, giving the best bow that he could.  
  
“Greetin’s to ye,” Pfarberk said to the tall, well-dressed Elezen man standing at the front of the group. “We’ll be the Bigger Kweh, travellin’ from Limsa Lominsa on behalf’ve Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn.”  
  
“You come later than expected,” the man replied, curling his long, blonde hair idly.  
  
“The clime weren’t to the ship’s likin’. We came as fas’ as we could, good sir.”  
  
“Mmm. I see. And your Admiral could not even be bothered to send a proper Maelstrom ship?” the man said, expression flat. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his green longcoat, then crossed his arms. “I must say, I find your Admiral’s lack of...propriety and misunderstanding of the relation between our nations more than a little troubling.”  
  
“M’apologies, sir,” Pfarberk said, shaking his head. “Truthfully, the Maelstrom’s only now startin’ to be rebuildin’ its navy - an’ the ships that they do have, they’ll be tied up keepin’ the good folks of Limsa Lominsa safe from fishbacks ‘n pirates - or otherwise makin’ sure everyone’s got food, medicines and the like. Admiral Merlwyb sent the Bigger Kweh and us simple sailors out’a necessity, not ‘cause she wanted t’be spitin’ you or the like.”  
  
“Ah. I see. If that is indeed true, then I suppose I shall have to retract my earlier statements. No offense was meant, good captain. Merely an observation of how I thought things were, and how they should be.” The man bowed slightly, and removed his feathered hat. “Chief Liaison Devoix Roumair, of the Office of External Relations.”  
  
“Captain Pfarberk Iyrnfhissyn, at yer service, Ser Roumair,” Pfarberk replied, removing his hat in turn. “On befalf’ve the Maelstrom an’ Limsa Lominsa herself, we’ve come with the usual stock of trade goods, an’ a bit more besides. We’ve some extras, too, if we could be offloadin’ that as well.”  
  
“Wonderful. I assume you have an itemized list of your inventory?”  
  
“Aye, we do.”  
  
“Mmm. I’ve an office in that building yonder,” Devoix said, pointing at one of the grey-stone structures down the road from the pier. “You will accompany us there, and we shall go over your inventory to discuss payments; we will also ensure that all of your ship’s own personal, extra cargo is fit for trade and complies with all regulations.”  
  
“Aye, sounds good. Xomni’to, Kukhose, with me. Ah, Ser Roumair, my sailors’ve been out at sea for a good moon longer than they’d be wantin’ - will there be a place where they can be stayin’ on dry-land for the evenin’ while we restock?”  
  
“Yes - there’s a set of temporary quarters that are reserved for visitors to Sharlayan. Jajatujo,” Devoix said to one of the lalafell standing next to him, “escort our good sailors to their accommodations while the Captain and I discuss terms of trade and sale.” Devoix turned and began walking off the ramp, followed closely by his staff, Xomni’to and Kukuhose; Jajatujo simply walked up to the sailors and waited until the other Sharlayans were out of earshot.  
  
“So, uh, I’ll be showing you to your quarters,” Jajatujo said, sighing. “Sorry if Devoix’s a bit of a...a little impolite.”  
  
“Aye, ye could be sayin’ that,” Striped Lily muttered. “What’s up ‘is arse?”  
  
“Ehe, uh, please don’t let him hear you say that. Anyways, you lot can grab whatever you’d like off the ship - the housing is about a five minute walk down the road, and there’ll be hot showers, clean sheets and washtubs for you clothes. If you’re cold and hungry, warm meals and drink at all of the mess halls and the few restaurants around the Studium.”  
  
“Drink? Like, teas, or the real kind? How’s about a tavern?” Baatar asked.  
  
“There’s...two? Three, technically. None of them are very large, though. Alcohol’s not prohibited in Sharlayan but it’s certainly not very popular - drinking’s supposed to be had in, ahem, ‘small amounts, as not to addle the mind overmuch,’ so the officials say.”  
  
“That sounds borin’ as shite. Why’s anyone want to be livin’ like so?” Baatar said, rubbing at her horns.  
  
“Not everyone finds their calling at the bottom of an ale-jug,” Xomni’to said with a snort.  
  
“Aye, an’ what a callin’ it’ll be,” Baatar said with a longing sigh.  
  
“Well most’ve us’ll be hankerin’ for a drink. Drank the las’ drop o’ rum two weeks ago, we did,,” T’thoruma noted sourly.  
  
“Ha! I may not be a sailor myself,” Jajtujo said with a smile, “but if the tales are to be believed a sober sailor is most certainly not a happy one.”  
  
“Won’t that be the truth’ve it,” Striped Lily replied. “A’right, we’ll go fetch our clothes ‘n the like an’ be back uptop short-like.”  
  
The sailors went below-deck and returned several minutes later, each carrying a pack full of clothes both clean and dirty, as well as various other goods; Jajatujo led them off the ship and up the road. From the docks, a long, well-maintained stone road led down a long strip; the same grey-stone buildings they’d seen from the waters lined both sides of the street, and in the distance a massive complex of buildings and towers, all bearing glowing green glyphs stood above all else. Few people were in the streets, and most eyed the sailors with a mixture of wariness and interest.  
  
“That’ll be the Studium, eh?” Momolk asked, pointing at the towers in the distance.  
  
“Mhmm. Biggest scholarly institution there is in across all of Hydalen herself, though mayhaps the Garleans might have something to rival it. Still, you’ll not easily find a finer institution of learning,” Jajatujo said proudly.  
  
“And what’ll these buildin’s here be?” Baatar asked. “Most folk seem t’be keepin to themselves an’ most’ve these buildin’s don’t have lablelin’ or nothin’.”  
  
“These are mostly dormitories and whatnot, for those who don’t wish to live within the Studium itself,” Jajatujo explained, jerking his head at a row of grey-stone buildings nearby; they were all uniformly boxy constructions, with pillars flanking their front doors. “It’s early morning - most people are probably studying, or are already at the Studium.”  
  
“Who’ll put pillars in their home?” Baatar asked, bewildered.  
  
“It’s just the style,” Jajatujo replied, shrugging.  
  
“Queer,” Bataar muttered.  
  
“Anyways, the other buildings around here are storehouses, studies, libraries and the like. Nothing fancy.”  
  
“You’ll say,” Baatar said, frowning.  
  
Up the road was a larger building, without pillars and decorated on the outside; a small plaque reading Temporary Visitor Accommodations was bolted to the door. The interior was luxurious, at least by Baatar’s estimation of things - rich, expensive woods, polished masonry, engravings upon pillars which stood by the reception desk. A bored-looking hyuran teenager with pale skin and short, cropped white hair was attending the desk, and she snapped to attention when the doors opened.  
  
“Morning, Roslyn,” Jajatujo said with a wave. “We’ve got visitors!”  
  
“V - visi - oh, goodness,” the girl said, shock spreading across her face. “Oh, Twelve. Um, hello there,” Roslyn said, getting up and waving at the sailors. “Uh, I wasn’t expecting you folk to get here so soon! But, uh, there’s no one else in the building, so all of the dormitories are available. Rooms are open on the second and third floor; there are two bathrooms on each floor and, uh, uh, all the rooms are ready. Beds, sheets and the like, all prepared. Oh! Kitchens! Yes, there’s kitchens on the first floor, as well as proper baths and stations to wash your clothes.”  
  
“Twelve, lass, no need to be panickin’,” Striped Lily said, waving a hand and smiling. “We’ll just be lookin’ for a warm, dry bed to be sleepin’ in an’ a hot shower to be takin’.”  
  
“Uh...yeah! Right. Right. Of course. Anyways each room has a key in the door - I understand you folks will just be staying the evening?”  
  
“Aye, that’ll be so,” Striped Lily replied.  
  
“Oh, that’s wonderful - I mean, no, I’m not saying I want you people gone - oh, gods -”  
  
“It’s fine, lass! Take a breath!” T’thoruma sad, shaking her head. “We gets the gists of it, aye. Will we be needin’ to pay for ‘nything?”  
  
“Um, no, not here. The items in the kitchen are free to be used or taken,” Roslyn replied, “but, uh, please don’t abuse that. I mean to say, if there’s a bowl of apples, don’t go stealing the bowl or anything. Please.”  
  
“Alrighty,” Baatar said, yawning. “I’ll be wantin’ that shower, aye.”  
  
“Well, if you folks need anything else or have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask Roslyn - worst case, she’ll pearl me or someone else and we’ll work things out,” Jajatujo said, bowing slightly before he left the room. Baatar and the other sailors walked up the nearby flight of stairs and picked out rooms at random; each room had four individual beds, and it took every onze of Baatar’s will not to just strip naked and throw herself into the soft, fluffy sheets that stood before her. Rather, she tossed her clothes-bag next to one of the beds, emptied out the clean clothes (save for a single set) and then took the bag back downstairs with her.  
  
Several of the crew were headed to the baths as well; Baatar and the other women split off into their own section of the baths, and stared at what could only be described as something out of a novel. The bathing room itself was decorated in the same laquered-wood stylings of the rest of the dormitories, but two massive grey-stone bathing pits sat in the room, one marked as being a “heated tub” and the other as a “cold-bath.” Drains were built into the floor at regular intervals, and individual bathing stations with washbuckets, taps and bars of soap were spread around the bathing pits. Most unbelievable, though, were the wash-stations Roslyn had described; far from the simple washbuckets-sink-drying line affairs that Baatar was used to, there was instead of row of strange box-shaped objects in the corner of the room.  
  
“The fuck’s this, then?” Baatar said, walking over to the contraptions. Each of the boxes on the left side of the row was attached to the wall by a series of metal pipes, while the ones on the rights bore several slits cut into their sides.  
  
“Tumble-washer,” Momolk said, walking up to the machines and reading off a plaque set next to them. “What’n the piss - ho, shite! These things’ll be doin’ the washin’ for ye!”  
  
“You wot?” T’thoruma said, scratching her head as her tail flicked back and forth. “How’s that?”  
  
“Uh, lessee ‘ere. First you’ll be usin’ the boxes on th’left o’ the wall. Ye put yer clothes in the container, shut the front, and then ye put some crushed soap from th’boxes o’er here in the top hole. Then, uh...ho, shite, that’s fuckin’ brilliant, it is!” Momolk said excitedly. “Right - so ye pull the lever, then, and there’s a wind crystal in the box, aye, and it’ll spin the thing what you put yer clothes in, while the tubes’n the back pour water though. The thing’s set to be stoppin’ after a while - then, ye take yer clothes out ‘n put’em into the boxes on th’right. Same deals, ‘cept now it’s a wind and a fire crystal, aye, and it’ll tumble yer clothes all warm-like ‘til they’ll be dry!”  
  
The sailors looked back and forth from Momolk, the plaque, and the two sets of boxes.  
  
Striped Lily let out a whistle. “Fuck me, that’s bloody genius, it is. Y’think it’ll be workin’?”  
  
“Might as well be tryin’ it,” Baatar said, impressed. She stripped naked and tossed her dirty clothes into a wash-tumbler, shut the front, and took a scoop of powder-soap out of the communal bucket, poured it into the hole in the top and tugged on the lever; the sailors flinched in unison as the box began rumbling and rattling, water pouring in from the top pipe into the now-spinning clothes-basket and draining out of the bottom.  
  
“Well would’ye be lookin’ at that, then,” Momolk said, eyes wide. “It does work!”  
  
All of the women stripped and loaded their washers; they stayed by the machines for nearly ten minutes, transfixed by the contraptions and their workings, before they moved to clean themselves at the bathing stations. Baatar filled a washbucket with hot water and was about to begin cleaning herself when she stopped, eyes wide as she sniffed at the soap-bar in her hand.  
  
“Oi, oi, ladies, the soap! THE SOAP!” Baatar shouted, waving the bar around. “It don’t smell like swine shite!”  
  
“Wait, what?” T’thoruma said, grabbing a bar and smelling it. “Oh gods it smells so good! Like flowers and mint and fruit! How? HOW?”  
  
“We gotta buy as much’a this shite as we can be fittin’ on the Kweh,” Momolk said frantically. “How the fuck’s this not come t’Eorzea ‘fore? Can y’imagine? Every sod, from Limsa’s waters to Ul’dah’s dusty shitebowls will be payin’ gil out th’arse to be bathin’ with soaps that smell...clean-like, y’ken?”  
  
The women spent a long, long time bathing and using the various soaps, passing them around and smelling them; Baatar counted, at the very least, six different types of scented bar. Washing weeks of grime and dirt off her scales and out of her hair, she rinsed off, switched her clothes into the tumble-dryer and sank into the hot-pool, sighing as her muscles and mind relaxed.  
  
She began to doze off.  
  
 _Hear. Feel. Think._  
  
“Oi, who says you can be usin’ me as a pillow?” Momolk said, prodding Baatar in the cheeks; she blinked and shot upright.  
  
“What the - did ye hear a thing jus’now?” Baatar said, look around the pool. The other women stared back at her oddly.  
  
“Hear? Hear what?” Striped Lily said, frowning.  
  
“I...I dunno,” Baatar replied, frowning. “I...huh. Queer. Think I’s just so tired I might be hearin’ things.”  
  
“Well don’t go losin’ yer mind,” Striped Lily said, shaking her head. “The Kweh’s not ever lost a sailor to sea-madness, aye, an’ we’ll not be startin’ now.”  
  
“Madness? Oi, I didn’t make nothin’ up. I thinks.” Baatar scratched at her head and sunk into the water until only the top of her hair poked out, and remained that way until she could no longer hold her breath. Sighing as she popped back out of the water, she looked over to the dryers - which were now finished - and got out, grabbing a towel from one of the nearby racks. She toweled herself off, and marveled as she began pulling warm, clean clothing out of her dryer; she piled her clothes together, put on a fresh set of robes and waited as the others joined her. “Now alls I’ll be needin’s a drink,” Baatar said with a grin, “and I’ll be right as rain, I will.”  
  
The women packed their clothing and walked back out to the reception area to find Roslyn staring off into space, her eyes glazed over and a wide smile on her face; Baatar walked up to her and crossed her arms until, several seconds later, the young teenager flinched in her seat.  
  
“Oh! Oh. Uh, hello there!”  
  
“Everythin’ fine?” Baatar asked, an eyebrow raised.  
  
“Yes! Absolutely fine. Perfect.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Y’looks like ye were hit by a cart or summat,” Momolk said, amused. “What happened?”  
  
“Well! Uh, I had to go and change the wind crystals in the, ahem, other baths. Because they were spent and I’d forgotten about that.”  
  
“Oho,” Momolk said with a grin. “And ye just happened to be spyin’ the hunky, dreamy sailor-men within, aye? Nude as they was born, ripplin’ with muscles an-”  
  
“-no! Yes? No. Uh,” Roslyn stammered, “no. Can I help you with something?”  
  
“Hehehehe, aye, ye can,” Baatar said, laughing with the others. “Will there be a place that’ll be servin’ food and drink ‘round here?”  
  
“Oh. Uh, yes! There’s only two taverns on the Isle of Val - one’s all the way at the other end of the Studium, but the closer one’s just down the road and at the corner of the first right turn - you can’t miss it,” Roslyn said, clearly relieved to be talking about something else. “Hot food and ale, if it pleases you.”  
  
“Aye, that’ll be good. Thanks, Miss Roslyn. We’ll be leavin’ ye to yer duties and most-pleasin’ thoughts. Have fun!” Baatar said, sniggering to herself as she ascended the stairwell.  
  


* * *

  
Jajatujo, as it turned out, had not been exaggerating at his estimation of the taverns available on the Isle of Val. The Tankard Tavern - possibly the most uninspired name for a drinking establishment Baatar could think of - was little more than a repurposed mess hall, and the only thing sorrier than its food menu - primarily made up of porridges, soups and plain bread - was the selection of alcohols.  
  
“The fuck you mean, you’ve only got ale?” Bataar asked, bewildered. “How’s a tavern only havin’ beer - one kind, no less - to be drinkin?”  
  
“Sorry?” The proprietor of the tavern was an old hyuran man, by the name of Oswin; he was bald-headed and sported a thick, white beard and an even thicker pair of spectacles. “Most’ve the farms in Sharlayan grow simple foods - enough to keep a man living, not fed like a king.”  
  
“Ki - oi, what’ve I just wants to be eatin’ somethin that’s not porridge, soup, or porridge soup? Or drinkin’ somethin’ that’s not ale?”  
  
“I have clear-spirits,” Oswin offered.  
  
“That’ll be for cleanin’ wounds, not drinkin’,” Momolk said crossly.  
  
“Well that’s all I have,” Oswin said, throwing his hands up in frustration. “If that’s not enough, you can go elsewhere.”  
  
Baatar grumbled, made a show of staring at the menu mounted on the tavern’s wall, then emptied half her coinpurse on the counter. “That’ll be ‘nuff for ten tankards o’ ale.”  
  
“You buyin’ a round fer us?” T’thoruma asked in a disbelieving tone.  
  
“Fuck off. It’ll be for me,” Baatar groused.  
  
“Oh, shite. Baatar, we’ll have t’be up in the mornin’,” Striped Lily groaned. “Don’t ye go knockin yerself to the ground all pissed. At least be eatin’ somethin’, eh?”  
  
“I can be eatin’ when we buys the - now holds up! Oswin, ye shite, if we’ll be buyin’ meats and the like for our ship supply, how’s it that you’ve barely got any t’be sellin’, huh?” Baatar asked.  
  
“Trust me, I don’t like it any more than you do. There’s entire libraries of culinary knowledge up in the Studium, sure, and they grow crops, raise animals to make dishes from all throughout Eorzean history - for history. Not for eating, because that’s not, ahem, ‘in keeping with the academic pursuit of historical knowledge and immersion,’ so I’ve learned.”  
  
Baatar blinked, then looked between Oswin and her fellow sailors. “That,” she said slowly, “might rightly be the dumbest fuckin’ thing I’s heard in me life.”  
  
“I don’t make the rules,” Oswin said, shrugging.  
  
“Nine tankards’ve ale an’ gimme the pork-bone soup,” Baatar said, sighing.  
  
A single bell later, the sailors of the Kweh were sitting around one of the long-tables; Xomni’to and Kukuhose had joined them not long after they’d arrived, while the Captain and Arnar were apparently still in meetings with the authorities. The group was chatting, playing dice and cards, chatting over bowls of (rather plain) soups with chunks of floating, grey meat in them, passing around jugs of ale and generally complaining.  
  
“Well,” Xomni’to said, taking another swig of his ale, “at least it’s warm and dry here. And besides, soon enough we’ll be back on the water - cold, sure, but we’ll have Baatar and Striped Lily to be doing the cooking with fresh provisions.”  
  
“Can ye belive’t? They have the things to be makin’ proper food an’ drink - but they choose to be makin’ nothin’ exciting since it’s not learnin’ to be eatin’ proper,” Baatar spat, finishing her third tankard of ale and starting on her fourth. “Why the bother, then? Might’s well be livin’ off bread’n water, then.” She shook her head, scowling. “Worst fuckin’ Heavensturn in me life - little t’eat and less t’drink. Bah!”  
  
“Eh, the whole place is queer, if y’ask me,” T’thoruma said with a frown. “Just feels off, y’know?”  
  
“Y’can say that. How’s a place that has scented soaps and washing-machina also be the same that don’t have more’n two restaurants?” Ototo added sourly. “Boggles the mind, it does.”  
  
“Aye,” Baatar continued. “An - huh?” She paused and looked up to see the doors swing open; a tall roegadyn woman, taller than Striped Lily, clad in blue longcoat and skirts, and bearing a full head of long grey hair walked into the tavern. The woman paused, taking in the sight of the just-more-than two dozen sailors sitting at the establishment’s long-tavern, then broke into a grin.   
  
“Well, well, colour me surprised! I’d heard we’d had visitors to Sharlayan, but I didn’t imagine it would be Lominsan sailors, to say the least,” the woman said, grinning as she walked up to the bar. “And a good evening to you, Oswin!”  
  
“Mmm, same to you, Moenbryda,” Oswin said, nodding. “What can I be fetching you?”  
  
“What? What do you mean, ‘what.’ All you have is the house ale,” Moenbryda said with a snort.  
  
“Well I thought I would ask,” Oswin said, shrugging. “Being polite, is all.”  
  
“A tankard of ale,” Moenbryda said with a sigh, before turning to face the long-table. “So, fair sailors, do you find the continent of Old Sharlayan to your liking?” Nobody said anything for a moment, and she smirked. “Ha! Well, doesn’t that silence - and your expressions - speak volumes about your thoughts on the matter.”  
  
“You live ‘ere?” Baatar asked. “Moenbryda, right?”  
  
“That’s so,” the woman replied as Oswin handed her a tankard of ale.  
  
“I’s a question. What sorta place makes the foods and raises th’animals y’need to be makin’ proper drink and food, then don’t ‘cause they thinks ‘eatin’s not learnin’ or somesuch?”  
  
Moenbryda took a look swig of ale and shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. I’m not part of the Forum - that’ll be the ones in charge of Sharlayan - and I don’t make the rules, either.”  
  
“If’t were me, I’d be leavin’ a place that didn’t have any drink ‘sides ale and clear-spirit,” Baatar said sourly.  
  
“What the hells would you be doin’ here, anyway?” Kokohuse noted dryly. “Sharlayan’s fer books and learnin’, and last I checked you’ll be doin’ neither.”  
  
“Now, now, my good lalafellin sailor, the Auri woman - you are Au Ra, yes? - makes a good point,” Moenbryda said, smiling as Baatar nodded. “Sharlayan is singularly focused as a nation on the scholarly pursuit - and I’ll be the first to say that, in that pursuit, the leaders of this fine city-state do often forget that there’s things outside of books.” She took another drink, then shrugged. “But, then again, one might ask why Ul’dahn’s don’t move somewhere with more water, or something. It’s just the way things are - and, as much as I do enjoy a good drink or a fine meal, it’s not the end of the world to be going without such things.”  
  
“Not the - aye, sure, but I’d sooner lose a finger than be livin’ without drink,” Baatar groused, draining her tankard and starting on her fifth.

 

* * *

 

  
**12TH SUN OF THE SECOND ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

“...and so, through this testin’, I think I’ve shown that searin’, in fact, does not ‘lock in’ juices or anythin’ of the sort. It’s an old-wive’s-tale, it is, and the sooner we’ll stop teachin’ as such the better - since, as I’ve just shown ye, gentle startin’ and finishin’ with the searin’ is actually keepin’ juices in better than doin’ it th’other way ‘round.” Susuli nodded, and grinned. “Questions?”

Guildmaster Lyngsath raised a hand. “I’ve one, aye. How’d nobody figure this shite out ‘fore? I mean, now that you’ve shown us it’s plain to be seein’ that’s the truth, aye, but up ‘til today I’ve been tellin’ the junior cooks to be searin’ hard first.”

“Bad thinkin’, it is. Ways’a doin’ things, they ought’a be tested,” Susuli said with a shrug. “Who’s to know how much skill ‘n technique we ‘know’ to be true isn’t, just ‘cause everyone goes’n accepts it to be so?”

“Well, thanks to ye for the testin’ - I think we’ll all be thinkin’ ‘bout how we does things and the why behind’t. Now, ‘fore we break for the day, we’ve saved the best presentation fer last - our newly-promoted Senior Chef Minamoto,” Lyngsath said, gesturing at Kanna. “Go ahead, lass, the station’s yours.”

“Thank you very much, Chef Hyllbornsyn,” Kanna said, stepping forward from the Bismarck’s staff and moving up to the workstation she normally used during working hours. “Now, I have shown many of you some dishes and techniques learned during my time prior to my being in Eorzea, and have even had the privilege of making these dishes a few times for customers by special request. However, it is my belief that, with minimal effort, some of these dishes could be easily integrated into the Bismarck’s repertoire - whether as specialized items, or as part of the regular menu. Today, I shall present to you one such dish - which I believe will encapsulate the simplicity of scale and complexity of technique that Hingan cooking so often relies on. We shall begin with  _nigirizushi_ , a preparation of rice treated with rice vinegar and served with a topping of raw fish.”

The cooks began muttering amongst themselves; Lyngsath cut them off with a wave of his hand and nodded to Kanna. “Go on, Kanna - you’ve the floor to yerself.”

“Thank you, Chef. Now, I am aware that in Eorzea, one consumes fish cooked or not at all. However, I assure you that, properly handled, it is in fact perfectly safe to eat raw fish,” Kanna explained, smiling. “After all, I have been doing so since I was a child, and I stand before you whole and hale. Allow me to demonstrate,” she said, pulling a large metal box out of the station’s cabinets. “First, we must gather our ingredients - in this case, I am using a salmon. Please note that is is essential that we use only saltwater fish; catches made from fresh water - as well as cod - will be susceptible to worms and other undesirable creatures. Now, it is important - perhaps moreso than normal - that the fish we are using remains at a low temperature. I have with me an icebox with a built-in-thermometer; we must not, under any circumstances, allow our fish to pass above - in Hingan units, forty nine degrees - which will be four degrees in Eorzean celcium. If we allow the temperature to gather above that figure, any worms or other parasitic creatures within the fish might be emboldened - something which will invariably lead to illness or other unpleasantry.”

Kanna then laid out a set of tweezers, a scaler and long boning knife, before opening the icebox and pulling a large salmon out. With practiced ease she scaled, gut and deboned the fish, then used her own knife - custom-forged by the artisans at the Blacksmithing Guild in the style of the santoku she had used back in Kugane - to break the fish down.

“Of course, almost all of a fish can be useful in the kitchen, but for the moment we shall be focusing on the flesh - note that the fattier belly of the salmon is a valued cut to be especially careful with.” With dextrous ease, Kanna sliced the salmon into thick, unctuous pieces, and laid them out in a spread across her cutting board. “Now, we may eat the fish itself as it is - in my own tongue, we would call this preparation  _sashimi_.” Kanna motioned for the cooks to come forward and watched them take the salmon slices - most with at least a little hesitation - and watched them eat.

Kanna hoped that her nerves weren’t showing.

“That,” Lyngsath said slowly after swallowing, “was good. Really good. I’ll say the texture’s not what I’ll be used to, aye, but - but that’s somethin’ else, it is. Chewy, but not badly so. An’ the flavour - it’s like eatin’ the essence of fish, it is. Gods. How’d we not think to be tryin’ this sooner?”

“Prob’ly ‘cause in th’older days o’ the Bismarck,” Goodwin said with a frown, “the ol’ Chef of the Kitchen’d be throwin’ y’out for suggestin’ such an ‘uncouth’’ thing - their words, not mine, Chef Minamoto. At least ‘fore Chef Hyllbornsyn came ‘bout, tradition were the way of things, not experimentin’.”

“Mmm. Back home the...Garleans with whom I have had the pleasure of interacting,” Kanna said venomously, “did indeed take to the cooking of Kugane with some pleasure. But the idea of consuming raw goods - raw fish especially - was something they deemed a ‘savage’ trait. A disgusting habit at best and an affectation to be stomped out at worst, in their eyes.”

“Hmm. Could I be havin’ an’oe’er of those, please?” Lyngsath said, happily taking a proffered piece of salmon belly from Kanna. He ate it slowly, before nodding, eyes glazed over in thought. “Now, I don’t know if we’ll be adding this to the regular menu right away - but we’ll be testin’ it with our more adventurous customers, you have me word. Easy enough t'be servin' with salads and such, too, I think. An’ ye said somethin’ ‘bout rice?”

“Yes. So, this manner of eating fish is not uncommon, but by far the more popular method of eating raw fish is by pressing a small, oblong-shaped ball of treated rice together, and laying the fish atop the ball.” Kanna opened a second box on her workstation and pulled out a handful of rice, then began pressing and forming it until its shape was to her liking. “This rice has been treated with a rice vinegar of my own making; I will freely admit that the rice available to me is not the sort I would wish to work with, but in lieu of the more exotic ingredients this will suffice in the meantime. Know that, traditionally, according to custom and practice, the equivalent of a...junior chef in the Eorzean brigade system would simply wash, cook and prepare rice for as many as five years before being allowed to lay hands upon fish as I do now,” Kanna said as she laid out a single piece of completed rice-and-fish. “ _Nigirizushi_ , starring the interplay of salmon and rice.” She presented it to Lyngsath, who took it, ate it, and nodded slowly a few moments later.

“The texture. The rice - it - it’s perfect.” Lyngsath grinned and nodded. “Gods damn, lass, this’ll be fetchin’ high praise an' a higher price, I think. And your station’s ‘bout to get a lot busier with trainin’, I’ll wager.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

“Don’t be thankin’ me - you’ll be the one trainin’ all of us to be making the food ye’ll have tucked ‘way in yer head. Well, a job well done, Chef Minamoto - a job well done, indeed. Clear yer station, lass. So! That’ll be it for today - ye can stay, practice if ye like. Restaurant’s closed today - go take a break, get drunk. Do whatever it is you lot do.”

Kanna let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and grinned as she was swarmed by cooks and chefs alike, shouting questions and begging her to show her knifework once more.

 

* * *

  
**15TH SUN OF THE SECOND ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

“The hells are ye still doin’ ‘ere, Kanna?” Jossy said, looking up from her books. “Go ‘ome! ‘Ave a drink, get some sleep!”

“I actually had a question to ask you, Miss Jossy,” Kanna said politely. “I know the fermentation rooms are already quite full, but I was wondering if I could be allowed a station for myself.”

“Eh? What for?”

“Well, I have experimented vigorously in sidestepping some of the usual required ingredients in my cooking, but I have come to the point where I believe that  _sake_  - fermented rice wine - and the ingredients that I can make with it will be necessary to meet my own standards of cooking.”

“Hmm. Well, I can’t be seein’ why we can’t find a lil’ room for ye,” Jossy said thoughtfully. “How much space’ll you be needin’?”

“No more than anyone else. Buckets and containers to ferment the rice, and that shall be it, I think.” Jossy paused, pulled another book from her drawers and flipped through it, then nodded.

“Aye, that’ll be easy. There’s two spots ‘ere where Giassaux’s been tryin’ to make ‘is own take on mun-tuy fer the las’ two moons. Ye can have one.”

“Wonderful. Would I be able to prep my station tonight?”

“Aye - follow me, I’ll unlock the fermenting room for ye.”

Kanna and Jossy both left the Bismarck’s kitchens via the back door; the restaurant’s dining area outdoors still had a few late-night patrons who were hoping to order off the late menu before the restaurant closed at eleven. Making their way past the dining tables and over to the lower levels of the Bismarck, Jossy led them over to a small door tucked into the side of the tower when Kanna stopped.

In the distance, down by the piers, was a ship - a large, double-masted brig - which was just weighing anchor; the torchlit docks revealed the ship’s shape.

Kanna recognized it from drawings and description.

The  _Bigger Kweh_. It had to be.

 

“Jossy, I am sorry, I must leave right this moment thank you very much good evening-” Kanna blurted, taking off at a sprint towards the ramps that would take her to the lower deck of the city. Kanna ran as fast as she could, weaving through crowds of late-night partygoers and workers, barreling towards the destined meeting she had been waiting for these long moons. At last she arrived at the docks and stood, transfixed, as she saw them.

One Au Ra. One Miqo’te. One Lalafell.

They stood, standing with a few other sailors on the piers next to their docked ships.

_I’ve found you at last_ , Kanna thought with breathy excitement.  _Kami, do you three look the part of the rugged adventurers I’ve seen in my visions for so, so many moons._

And rugged indeed they were; all three were dressed in simple sailor’s garb, their clothes dirty and their hair either roughly cut - in Xomni’to’s case - or worn shaggy and unkempt, for the two women. Xomni’to and Momolk were both laughing as one of the other sailors - a bald hyur - told a story, passing a flask between each other, while Baatar grinned as she smoked what Kanna presumed was some sort of Eorzean herb out of a pipe, not unlike the kiseru she’d seen others enjoy back home.

Steadying herself, she stepped forward; Xomni’to’s ears twitched and he snapped around, taking notice of Kanna.

“Hey,” he said, tapping Baatarsaikhan on the arm. “It’s Kanna - that white-haired lass your mom said to be listenin’ to.”

“The fu - oh. It is, ‘aint it,” Baatar said, in a tone that Kanna could not place. “So! You’ll be that Raen lady who says I’m some hero, eh?”

“I - um - yes. Please, I - I have waited so long to see you - I - ahem.” Kanna stopped, took a deep breath, and did her best to ignore the odd looks the sailors - all of the sailors - were giving her. She bowed deeply, and spoke with as much politeness and gravity as she could project. “My name is Kanna Minamoto, and I have traveled from far Kugane in search of you three - Baatarsaikhan of the Kha, and Xomnit’o and Momolk Molkoh. My visions - which I am aware your second-mother, Idertuuya of the Kha - has informed you of, lead me to seek your persons, for in them I travel with you as heroic defenders of the Eorzean realm, and lands beyond. I humbly ask that you allow me to travel with you, such that I may fulfill my visions and, in doing so, contribute to the safety of all good living beings who call Hydaelyn home.”

Kanna looked up to find the sailors - and her three would-be companions - staring at her in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Hold, lass,” said a tall, older roegydan sailor. “You having visions - aye, I’ll be believin’ that. An’ you needin’ to come t’Eorzea - aye, I’ll be believin’ that, too. But, I’m sorry-” the man paused to hold back a laugh - “you’ll be mad if ye think Baatar’s some sorta...how’s you say, ‘heroic defender’ o’ the realm, miss. A good lass, a fine sailor, a great friend - but none’ve us’ll be heroes what save the realm, Lady Minamoto. We’re sailors.”

“Aye,” Xomni’to said slowly and calmly. “You can be travelin’ with us if you like, but we’re not...heroes, or the like. We’ll be sailors doing sailing. Shipping cargo. Trading goods. The only work we do on land is relaxing, drinking, and selling our wares.”

“But - surely - I - yes, I understand you are sailors,” Kanna said, deep in thought. “But...surely in some way you assist Eorzea’s defense?”

“If ye’ll consider tradin’ wares twixt the nations helpin’, aye, I’d agree, but that’s no ‘defense’ or somesuch,” Momolk said with a shrug. “And we’ll not be privateerin’, so ye can’t say we’re takin’ the fight to the Garleans, much as we’d like to be puttin’ the bastards under cannon-fire.”

“I see. Very well,” Kanna said, the gears in her head spinning at full speed, “I understand. Do you intend to be… retiring from the sailing life? Soon?”

“No,” Baatar said, pipe stem clenched between her teeth. “Work’s fun, gil’s easy an’ the life’s nice. I makes my coin, sends it home, and I sees the realm fer free. What woman who’ll not mind a bit’a labour would be givin’ that up?”

“The realm,” Kanna countered, “is in need, more than ever, of stalwart persons of courage and conviction. You carry an axe,” she said, pointing to the double-bladed weapon slung on Baatar’s back, “and I have it on good authority that you yourself are the sort who enjoys combat.”

“Aye,” Baatar said, an eyebrow raised. “An’?”

“Would it not be, then, an easy transition for you? From sailor to adventurer? You would make coin. You would get to fight. You could do as you like in the pursuit of justice and righteousness, serving the realm and its needs.”

Baatarsaikhan sighed, removed the pipe from her mouth and blew out a mouthful of smoke. “Look, Kanna, I feels for ye, I do. Seerhood, it’ll not be easy - ‘tis a curse as much a gift, eh? But lissen’ere - I’m no soldier-woman. I’m nay Maelstrom nor Yellowjacket. Will I be likin’ t’fight? Sure! But I’ll not be wantin’ to be throwin’ my life away just ‘cause some sod wants me to die protectin’ ‘is cart fulla goods or summat,” Baatar said simply. “Right stupid, that is.”

“I - okay, but what if that cart was full of medical supplies bound for Wineport? Or you were charged with protecting a cart full of displaced Lominsan citizens? Would you deny the righteousness of cause such things would entail?”

“I - oi, oi! You sayin’ I’d not help a sod needin’ it so ‘cause I’s a, what, blackguard? Ye take that insinuatin’ back, you will.”

“I meant no offense,” Kanna shot back, her tone beginning to drop.

“Oi, but ye did cause't,” Baatar said, scowling. “Lookit. I stumbles across this cart full’a refguees, aye, I’d be protectin’ ‘im. Same with the medicines in yer story, or whatever. But I’ll not be goin’ outta me way to look for trouble like so, you ken?”

“Why not? Why shy away from such things? If you could help, why not help?”

“Because, Miss Minamoto, not everyone wants to be a hero of fame and legend,” Xomni’to said, shrugging. “A hero is famed for their selflessness and willingness to fall upon their sword for others. We, perhaps, are simpler folk,” he continued, gesturing to the sailors as a whole. “We’ll help a soul in need, if we see it, but if we’ll be famous and rich we’ll do it on our own terms, not for the glory of helpin’ folks who need savin’ from bandits or monsters or such.”

“Aye, aye,” Momolk said, nodding. “Whats if we don’t want to be dyin’ out in the wilds ‘cause some shitehead says ‘e’ll pay a ten-gil for twenty nutkin arseholes what can only be found in some dragon’s lair or some shite, eh?”

“You gravely insult the work heroes have done to protect you,” Kanna snapped. “Many have laid down their lives so that you could live today.”

“Aye, so it is,” Baatar replied coolly. “Of Kha, I am - just a few who were thinkin’, we’d not be fightin’ the Garleans, lest we be dyin’ by the droves, driven back further an’ further into th’Steppe, away from civilized folks such as yourself, Miss Raen. Savages, eh? Can’t be trusted to be goin’ into the city an’ carousin’ wi’ the city-folk, hmm? I lost me mum and me pa an’ plenty more kin an clan besides, comin’ t’Eorzea. Then the fuckin’ moon-dragon comes, ‘e does, and he takes way my family - from twenty-six, to four. He burns me back and scars me all oe’er. He burns me brother and me sis,” she continued, jerking her head at Xomni’to and Momolk while never breaking gaze with Kanna. “ _He_  fuckin’ takes. The  _realm_ , it takes. Sod it. Helpin’ folk, I’ll do if I has to, if it’s in front o’ me eyes, sure. But ye can fuck off with the ‘hero’ shite, woman. I’s lost enough. And I’d wager so ‘as everyfolk here.”

“Hear, hear,” T’thoruma said. “Me pa were a hero - marchin’ off to be savin’ folk. What’d he get for’t? Lost ‘is fuckin’ legs, ‘e did. And there were no kind folk he’d once a-helped to be payin’ fer new legs, or healin’, or work, or the like.”

The other sailors all murmured their assent, and Kanna curled her fists, spoke through a shut jaw and clenched teeth.

“So that is it. You have all lost something. The realm continues to lose itself. And your response is to look away? Deny that a single good soul in the right time and place can change the entire realm’s course, its history, its legacy?”

“Single sou - are ye fucking  _daft_?” Baatar said, rolling her eyes. “What, ye think there’s one poor bastard who’ll be savin’ the whole realm, eh? Git ta fuck! Where’ll be this hero-man when the fuckin’ moon blew up? Where’ll be this brave soul when the fuck-off dragon came an’ burned me family to bits, eh?”

Kanna flinched, her eyes rolling into the back of her head-

_  
-I am old._

_Yes._

_This is how I shall spend the remainder of my life, for what it is worth._

_Twelve, I call upon you to end this. In my time of need - in OUR time of need, in EORZEA’s time of need, I beseech thee - hear my prayers, our prayers, and grant me the power that I might stay the hand of this foul creature._

_Twelve! Hear me! Hear me-_

 

 

“Oi,” Baatar said, helping Kanna to her feet. “Y’alright? Ye had a vision or summat?”

“One - one soul can, did save us all, you ungrateful _bitch_ ,” Kanna spat.

“The fuck y’on about?” Baatar said, confused.

“You - he - the Dreadwyrm would have laid waste to all Eorzea, all of Hydaelyn were it not for him!” Kanna shouted, tears beginning to stream down her face. “He - he gave his life! He gave his soul!”

“Lass,” Pfarberk said slowly. “Is, ah, yer head fine? Yer not makin’ a lick’a sense. Who’n the hells are ye talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I -  _him_  - gods,” Kanna whispered, sobbing. “So close. We were so close to losing _everything_  and you would, you would spit on his sacrifice and his name?”

“What in the fuck are ye sayin’?” Baatar said, bewildered. “Nhaama and the Twelve-”

“-I am no Eorzean and I shall not have you curse the gods! They did as they could!” Kanna shouted. “We were spared! What more could you ask?”

“What more could I be askin? You shut yer fuckin’ mouth, Kanna Minamoto, and ye think real careful-like how you wants to be continuin’ that sentence,” Baatar growled, “or I’ll rip ye fucking head off, I will.”

“I - you - GAAAH!” Kanna screamed in frustration and cursed beneath her breath. “You - I - a vision! I saw it! One man, held aloft by the prayers and the hopes of all Eorzea. Hope, Baatarsaikhan! You would turn away from the very thing which fueled the strike that slew the Dreadwyrm itself!”

“That so,” Baatar hissed.

“Yes!”

“Y’got any proof ‘side yer fuckin’ visions, eh? Since, from where’s I’m standin’, there weren’t no one hero or the like what saved us from the moon-dragon. It were  _thousands upon thousands_  o’ folk, ordinary-like soldiers wi’ families and kids and lovers and such, what died to be keepin’ us safe. So ye can take yer heroes and shite and ye can get right the fuck outta me sight.”

Kanna said nothing.

She cried in furious silence, shaking with rage and disbelief and frustration and sorrow and -

“-Miss Minamoto, I really hope that hand is twitching because you are upset and not because you intend to draw the sword at your hip,” Xomni’to said coldly, hand on the pistol holstered on his belt. “I may sympathize with your...concerns and beliefs. But if you so much as move to draw your blade against my sailor-kin or my sisters, I will put a hole between your eyes without hesitation.”

“I - I was not going to draw my weapon against you degenerate, ungrateful louts,” Kanna shouted. “Have a good evening. I hope, if we ever have the misfortune to meet again, that you - all of you - will have reconsidered your positions on this matter.”

Baatarsaikhan watched Kanna disappear into the night, and spat on the ground. “Pompous bitch. Fuckin - can ye believe’t? Most’ve me kin dead and she asks ‘what more’ I can be givin’? Pampered shite probably’s not so much as even seen a man dead, she hasn’t.”

“Leave’t,” Momolk sighed, patting Baatarsaikhan on the leg. “Leave’t. Don’t be troublin’ yerself. Y’said it - seerhood or the like’s a queer thing. Prob’ly she didn’t mean to be pissin y’off, least not so much.”

“Mean or no, she did do the thing,” Baatarsaikhan grumbled, jamming her pipe between her teeth again. “And me fuckin’ pipe’s gone an’ unlit itself. Great.”   


 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, gods, is it good to see you three again,” Idertuuya said, pulling Baatar, Momolk and Xomni’to into a hug as they entered her apartment. “You lot were at sea for a lot longer than I thought you’d be! I thought Captain Pfarberk said the trip to Sharlayan was going to take two months, there and back!”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk said, dropping her pack off by one of the living room’s blanket-covered chairs. “The weather were bad, though. An’ the Calamity’s gone and made the sea like the hells themselves up by the Sharlayan Continent, it has - corrupted-cryst an’ rocks a-plenty, there’ll be.”  
  
“Still, all things considered, we did quite well,” Xomni’to added as Idertuuya ushered the three over to the dining room table. “And, not to mention, on top of our wages and the Maelstrom’s bonus, Momolk’s brought back a good deal of her own cargo to sell.”  
  
“Oh?” Idertuuya said, putting on kettle on the kitchen stove. “Well, more gil’s always - Baatar, what’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothin’, ‘cept yer Raen woman came and talked herself up a big load’a shite when we’s got off th’boat,” Baatar grumbled.  
  
“Gods damnit please tell me you at least let her explain herself,” Idertuuya said, turning and folding her arms.  
  
“We did! I did!” Baatar shouted. “She’ll be insinuatin’ that I’ll be some roguish blackguard who’ll turn her nose up at a poor man who’ll be needin’ help, just ‘cause I don’t want to be adventurin’ in the wilds an’ gettin’ eaten by some blasted vilekin or such. Then she’ll be sayin’ that sailin’s not a proper venture - like, that Xomni, Momo’n I ought t’be retirin’ from sailin’ at this minute s o we’s can be ‘venturin’ ‘round the realm, ahem, ‘defending the realm’ or summat.”  
  
“Oi, cool it, no need to be rippin’ yer mum’s ear off,” Momolk cautioned.  
  
“Aye,” Baatar said after a moment. “Looks, mum. I lost - we lost the Kha. Limsa lost so much. Ye lost yer leg. Momo and Xomni got toasted by that fuckin’ moon-dragon, as did half the damn realm. Who’s to be sayin’ that I’s not lost enough, eh?” Baatar shrugged, sighed. “Look, I’ll be understandin’ this Kanna woman, wantin’ to be a hero and the like. Sure. Not me, a’right? I wants to be comfortable, safe, providin’ for kin and kith and city. Tha’s all.”  
  
Idertuuya said nothing for a minute, watching her kettle come to a boil before setting out a teapot and cups for everyone. “Well, I’m...biased,” Idertuuya said, pouring the four of them each a cup of tea. “One the one horn, I do think you should be free to be doin’ as you like, hero or sailor or anything. We left the Steppe - not just to be safe, but for opportunity. To be something more than, at most, traders of provisions, nomads of the wilds.”  
  
“I’m sensin’ a ‘but’ ‘ere,” Baatar said slowly.  
  
“Aye. If you’ll be a sailor, who’s to say you can’t be a, I don’t want to be using the word ‘hero’ for fear of upsetting you, but...but an adventurer’s life isn’t honestly much more or less dangerous than sailing, I’d wager - just as a sailor can be choosin’ his routes, or choosin’ to trade or privateer, no adventurer’s being forced to fight monsters or the like.”  
  
Baatar looked into her cup of tea, frowning. “Aye. I gets the idea. I done some thinkin’ ‘bout it - maybe not ‘nough, sure - but I don’t want to be dyin’ out in the wilds in the name of...what, gil? Helpin’ folks I barely knows?” Baatar drank some tea, rubbed at her horns and made an odd, exhaling sort of nose. “Looks, mum, bein’ a sailor, I can be helpin’ folks by tradin’, makin’ coin, and bein’ - okay, not entirely safe, but not lookin’ for a fight or trouble or such.”  
  
“Well I’m not saying that you have to quit now,” Idertuuya noted. “But do you intend to be a sailor for the rest of your life?”  
  
“I dunno,” Baatar replied quietly. “I don’t thinks much beyond me next wage, mum. Xomni, Momo, you lot’ll want to be makin’ some gil to be comfortable or somesuch, then doin’ yer inventin’ or learnin’ or whatever. I can read and do simple figures, aye, but I’m no scholar or summat.” She shrugged, an odd look on her face. “I’ll sail ‘til I don’t want to be sailin’ no more, then I’ll figure from there. Maybe I’ll be settlin’ down like Cousin Oyuun.”  
  
Idertuuya looked at her daughter skeptically, as did Xomni’to and Momolk.  
  
“Okay, maybe not,” Baatar groused.  
  
“Yeah, I can’t be seeing you as housewife Baatar who makes bread and raises children,” Xomnit’o said with a snort.  
  
“Oi! Don’t ye be sayin’ that I’lls not be findin’ meself a good partner. Right good, I am.”  
  
“Heh. You’s the one that said’t, not Xomni,” Momolk replied.  
  
“An’ I never implied he couldn’t be good,” Xomni’to reasoned. “Merely that he’d have to be blind and possibly dea-OW!” the miqo’te yelped as a ladle bounced off his skull. “Right on the border of me damn scar!”  
  
“Anyways,” Baatar forged on unimpeded. “The Kweh needs t’be sent back to Moraby for a spell - she weren’t ready ‘fore a big trip like we did,” she sighed as she poured herself another cup of tea. “So we’ll be stayin’ in fine Limsa for at least a moon, I thinks.”  
  
“If that’s the case, then I think it’d be best if you spoke with Kanna again. You say the two of you remained civil, and yet for some reason I don’t quite believe that,” Idertuuya noted.  
  
“Well, she’ll be the one sayin’ I’ll be needin’ to give more to th’realm,” Baatar spat. “I refuse-ed ‘er, and then she’s goin’ an’ getting all a-flutter ‘bout how ‘one hero can be changin’ the world’ or somesuch, then I tells her to be pissin’ right the fuck off. And so she goes.”  
  
“I’d hardly call that civil.”  
  
“Well - well it weren’t like we come to fists,” Baatar grumbled.  
  
“Look - I’m not asking you to agree with her. Just go - go and speak with her at some point again, and try to be a bit more diplomatic, hmm? An besides, she’s a seer, no? She does have the gift, right?”  
  
“She does, I’ll wager. She were in the midst of talkin’ when she hit the ground hard, then started spoutin’ some nonesense ‘bout a hero what stopped Bahamut single-handedly.”  
  
“Hmm. I - I don’t actually know what happened on the fields of Cartenau - all the Maelstrom’s said to us, let alone the public, is that a dangerous and previously untested magic was used, and it consumed countless souls as sacrifice.” Idertuuya paused, then frowned. “Including the - the Warriors of Light who took to the field.”  
  
“Eh? Th’adventurers what did the big raid on the Castrum Nov-whatever?” Baatar said.  
  
“Well in any case the spell worked, though it did cost the realm dearly. But you do have proof that Kanna’s a seeress in the flesh - and I know that you know ignoring anyone who has the gods-given gift of visions is a bad idea.”  
  
“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll go visit the woman, Twelve!” Baatar said, finishing another cup of tea. “Anyroads, we’ve better news than that shite business with Miss Raen,” Baatar said, grinning. “Ye like gil? ‘Cause we’re ‘bout to be swimmin in the stuff.”  
  
“How so?” Idertuuya asked.  
  
“So. Y’know how soap smells like pig fat? Because it...is pig fat?” Xomni’to said, a small smiling playing about his mouth. “Well. As it turns out, the good scholars of Sharlayan have figured a way to make soap smell like flowers, mints, or any other number of things that might mask the scent of, well, swine...dung.”  
  
“How?” Idertuuya said, eyes widening. “People’ve been trying to figure that out for...as long as I’ve been in Eorzea, to no avail. Whatever you put into the soaps just ends up losing its scent during the making of the thing.”  
  
“Ehe. I tried to be askin’ folks ‘fore we left,” Momolk said, “but it’ll be a secret, the sorts they’ll kill a man for stealin’. Anyroads, the Cap’n bought nearly half a tonze of the stuff - and meself, I bought up a nice, big stack ‘o crates jus’ for us. Once we sells it, we’ll be spreadin’ the gil three ways twixt me, Xomni and Baatar - and trus’ me, there’ll be plenty’a coin bein’ made these comin’ moons. The tricks is to say we has a limited supply - and, t’be honest, that’s no lie - so we can be raisin’ the prices real good-like,” Momolk said, eyes glazing over. “Think ‘bout it. How much’s a soap bar?”  
  
“For a good quality bar? One that doesn’t smell too terrible? Hm. I’d wager it’s...thirty gil? There’s kinds that’ll smell less if you keep’t on ice - those ones’ll be forty gil at the most,” Idertuuya said thoughtfully.  
  
“Sod that. First, we’ll be gaugin’ how much folks like the different smells or whatnot - no need to be sellin’ all the bars the same if some’ll be goin’ faster than others. Oh, an’ we’ll be raisin’ the price a bit higher since, well, we’ll not be sellin’ all the soaps. I’ll not be smellin’ like swine when I could be as fine-scented as a field ‘a flowers, I could.”  
  
“What next? Will you be asking for the firstborns and hands of people who want to buy this soap of ours?” Idertuuya said, a wry smile creeping across her face. “Maybe you were born in Ul’dah, Momolk.”  
  
“I’ll be takin’ that as a compliment, I will,” Momolk puffed her chest out proudly.  
  
“So? Any other gifts from Old Sharlayan besides a mountain of soap-bars?” Idertuuya said, refilling her teacup. “Some books, perhaps?”  
  
“You would be surprised, aunty,” Xomni’to said, shaking his head. “In fact, books are one of the few things that are strictly controlled going out of the country. Apparently their government really, really doesn’t like knowledge leaving their borders, but they’ll happily let it come in.”  
  
“That’s...how queer. I thought a nation of sages and scribes would want their knowledge to, you know, be passed around,” Idertuuya said thoughtfully. “I didn’t ken it as you say it, Xomni’to.”  
  
“In any case, we did pick up a few things - mostly reagents and the like, nothing that’ll be easy to sell. Except for Baatar’s - what’s it called?” Xomni’to asked.  
  
“Fogweed!” Baatar said, grinning madly. “It’ll be like moko, aye, ‘cept instead o’ making ye all tired-like and hungry, it, ahem, ‘sharpens the mind and senses and calms the nerves when taken in small quantities,’ or so’s I’m told,” Baatar said. “Mind, I just think it’ll be a fine taste.” She dug in her pack for a moment and pulled out a brass tin and unscrewed the top, showing the ribbons of pungent brown flake inside. Idertuuya sniffed at it, then shrugged.  
  
“It smells rather queer.”  
  
“Eh. I were thinkin’ the same thing too, but it’ll not be so bad.”  
  
“Well, if it does what you say it does and tastes as fine as you claim, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of folk who’ll be buyin’ it from you,” Idertuuya said, sighing. “Look at you three. Scheming for gil, trading goods from faraway lands and looking all grown and muscled. Gods. Why, I remember when you three were but wee children, fighting over dumplings and playing in the baths.”  
  
“Aye, but that’ll be the case no more, aunty,” Momolk said, grinning. “You done us good, raised us fine as any second-parent could be doin’.”  
  
“That means...that means a lot, to hear that said aloud,” Idertuuya said proudly.  
  
“Ah, we’ll always be thinkin’ so, mum,” Baatar said, getting up and hugging Idertuuya. “I’m sure eewa Chinjaal and awa Gon’ll be happy spirits, they will.”  
  
“If you don’t stop this I think I’m going to start crying.”  
  
“Ah, well, we can’t be makin’ ye look bad, mum. Anyroads, I’ll be needin’ a shower, and I thinks Momolk an’ Xomni’ll be the same.”  
  
“Well you know where the bathroom is,” Idertuuya said, collecting the cups and the teapot. “Towels are in there too. And Oyuun’s not home - you can use her guestroom to sleep in for now.”  
  
“Oh? Where’ll she be?” Baatar asked, confused.  
  
“Uh, she’s spendin’ some time at Edward’s apartment. Quality time,” Idertuuya said, smirking.  
  
“Oho, maybe we’ll be standin’ outside and cheerin’ the bastard on, then,” Baatar sniggered as she and her siblings left for the baths.  
  
  


  


* * *

  
**15TH SUN OF THE SECOND ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Garlean Imperial Army Headquarters, Ala Mhigo**  
  
  
“Legatus, sir! I have a message for you from the Armorum! You’re needed immediately!”  
  
Gaius snapped awake and checked his wrist-chronometer; its blue lights flared to life as he moved.  
  
 _0320._  
  
Gaius got to his feet and began snapping on his armour, which he kept in a half-assembled state on a mannequin beside his bunk; with practiced ease he strapped himself into it. He grabbed his gunblade, made sure his chest rig was full of speedloaders, then loaded the gunblade’s cylinder before slinging the weapon on his back.  
  
He exited his room exactly one minute and six seconds later. Optio Principalis pyr Vibalia was, faithful as ever, standing outside, awaiting his superior. Gaius nodded at him, and the two took off at a brisk pace towards the Armorum.  
  
“Report.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Architectorum mal Duplician says his teams have finished decrypting the information on that tomestone you delivered to him. He refused to tell me what its contents were; apparently the details were important - and grave - enough that he insisted I wake you at once.”  
  
“Insolent. You are my assistant, authorized to act and receive messages on my behalf,” Gaius spat as they left the Officer’s Quarters and began walking through the camp towards the massive hangars of the Armorum. “Such behaviour will not be tolerated.”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
  
They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the Armorum - a combination warehouse-hangar in the same pre-fab cermet as everything else around them. The night sentries let the pair into the building, and an exhausted-looking engineer greeted them with a weary salute.  
  
“Legatus, Optio Principalis. The engineering teams are waiting for you upstairs in the briefing room.”  
  
Gaius nodded and rode the elevator to the briefing room on the fourteenth floor; once there, the exited to find a long hallway, at the end of which sat a set of automated double doors. They entered to find more than two dozen engineers, all bleary-eyed yet excited as they looked at strange-looking diagram of magitek armour up on a wall-monitor.  
  
One of them wheeled around as the doors slid open, and rushed forward with a salute as the engineers snapped away from their work to stand at attention.  
  
“Legatus van Baelsar! My apologies for wa-”  
  
“-before you continue, Architectorum, you will apologize to my Optio,” Gaius said flatly. “In the future, if you must inform me of something classified, you would do well to remember that, in all but the most critical of state secrets, Optio Principalis pyr Vibalia is cleared to know what I know. His being informed of intelligence is vital. If, for example, both your men and I were to die in a surprise attack, it would fall to him to deliver the information you have to the relevant authorities. Is that clear, Manius mal Duplician?”  
  
The man, who was nearing forty-two years of age and had long since gone bald, fell to his knees. “Of course, Legatus. You hav-”  
  
“-get up. If I want you to grovel before me I’ll tell you to do so. Otherwise, get back on your feet, and do not make that mistake again.” Gaius paused, then faced the engineers. “At ease. Manius, report.”  
  
“Sir! Thank you, sir! Please, if you’ll take a look at the image displayed on the main monitor,” Manius said, leading the pair over to the wall. The blue-monochrome monitor displayed a device that reminded Gaius of a four-legged war-machina styled after some sort of giant beast; it had manipulator arms, a massive, thick tail segment and pair of scythe-like wings on its back, and the machine’s ‘head’ looked not unlike a stylized helmet of some sort.  
  
“What am I looking at?”  
  
“This, Legatus van Baelsar, is what Allagan machinists dubbed the ‘Ultima Weapon.’ Though my men are still decrypting some of the more complex files upon that tomestone you passed along to me, our study of the machine’s fundamentals lead us to believe that it is a purpose-built weapon, designed specifically to absorb both the form and function of aether-formed creatures.” Manius grinned at Gaius, eyes wild. “Sir, I don’t want to promise you something then come up empty-handed, but I - and the other engineers - are ninety-nine percent sure that the purpose of this machine is to absorb the ‘Primals’ the beasts and savages of Eorzea are wont to summon, then - again, I stress this is conjecture - wield their power as its own.”  
  
Gaius gazed at the diagrams, eyes flitting about the blueprints and annotations on the display for several minutes.  
  
“Well done,” Gaius said at last, nodding at Manius. “Have your men been working on this non-stop since you received the tomestone?”  
  
“More or less, sir. Everyone in the Engineering Corps has been pulling double shifts at the minimum for the past four moons - with some doing triple. We’re tired, sir, but eager to work.”  
  
“I see. And have you uncovered the whereabouts of this ‘Ultima Weapon?’” Gaius asked.  
  
“I’m afraid we haven’t quite yet. The coordinates we’ve found so far would imply that it the device is directly underneath Porta Praetoria - but we checked with the men stationed there and, despite doing some extensive digging this moon, they’ve been unable to find anything that might imply the Ultima Weapon being there. Furthermore, the device, despite being offline, should emit a signature comprised of several things, though the easiest to trace would be power signatures and aetherwarp radiation - none of which were found at Porta Praetoria.”  
  
“Have the men at Porta Praetoria searched their surrounding sectors?”  
  
“They began doing so two suns ago, sir.”  
  
Gaius considered all of this information for a few seconds, then - beneath his helm smiled, though none could see it. He stepped aside, and cleared his throat, gathering the attention of the room’s occupants.  
  
“Engineers of the Armorum - congratulations on a job well done,” Gaius said calmly. “Though your work is far from done, know that I recognize your service - and the quality of said service. You have the next two suns to rest, recuperate and relax, and tonight all of you will be receiving officer’s rations. Though, of course, I will not stop you if you wish to work. Continue your hard work. That is all.”  
  
The engineers stood at attention and saluted. “YES, LEGATUS! THANK YOU, LEGATUS!”  
  
Gaius strode out of the room, Faustus following close behind.  
  
“Legatus? What now?” Faustus asked.  
  
“Now,” Gaius replied as the two returned to the elevator, “I am going to finish my night’s rest. It will be a long sun. Ensure you get yours, Principalis.”  
  
  


* * *

  
Later that morning, after taking a light breakfast of bread, meat-broth and fruit, Gaius walked to the meeting room across the street from his barracks and entered; the guards there saluted, and he took his place at the front of the room. A few minutes later, his three deputies arrived - the Tribunus: Laticlavius, Angustclavius and Militum - all clad in armour; each saluted before taking their seats.  
  
“I’ve called you here today because I wish for you to consult with me on a confidential matter,” Gaius said, using the terminal on his desk to seal the doors. “This is strictly confidential - for the moment, the information I am about to share remains between us, and us alone.”  
  
“Of course,” the woman in white said, nodding. “Your word is our command, my lord.”  
  
“Mmm. I...appreciate the sentiment, Livia.”  
  
“So? What’s transpired that has you calling private meetings and sealing doors? As far as I can tell,” the man in red said, “nothing - information or goods - has passed through the camp that warrants such secrecy.”  
  
“Indeed, something important has transpired - and under your nose, no less, Nero.”  
  
“I - what?” Nero tol Scaeva shouted. “What do you mean, under my nose?”  
  
“It was not meant to be an insult to the quality of the Frumentarium’s intelligence officers, or yourself, for that matter.” Gaius sighed and shook his head. “Four moons ago, a black-robed man wearing a red mask appeared in my quarters in the middle of the night. I use the word ‘appeared’ correctly, before you ask. He simply was standing before me, where a second ago he had not.”  
  
“Teleportation?” Nero said, shaking his head. “That’s insane. Nobody’s figured that out.” Not without magitek gates or aetherytes, in any case.  
  
“It does not matter. Now, I naturally attempted to subdue this trespasser, and so I stabbed him in the gut with my gunblade. It passed through his body as though he were a ghost,” Gaius spat. “So, finding myself at a disadvantage, I decided to listen to the man, not that he gave me much choice.”  
  
“Did he...introduce himself?” the armoured roegadyn - the only non-Garlean in the room - asked. “I can’t imagine this...ghost-man decided to drop in for a night visit without higher intentions in mind.”  
  
“No, he did not, Rhitahtyn. In fact,” Gaius noted, “he explained to me that he had a gift and a goal for me - but would not explain his goal, calling it a ‘sensitive matter.’ The gift he had for me was a tomestone-”  
  
“-the one you gave to Manius,” Nero said, head snapping up.  
  
“That is correct,” Gaius said, nodding. “Now, this man explained that an invasion of Eorzea would benefit his plans, left me that tomestone, and disappeared as quickly as he’d come. I delivered the tomestone to the Armorum immediately, and the majority of the files were decrypted just earlier today. It contains documentation on an Allagan magitek construct called the ‘Ultima Weapon,’ a device specifically designed - if the engineers are correct - to subdue and absorb Eikons, before wielding their powers as its own.”  
  
The room was silent for nearly a minute.  
  
Nero whistled, shaking his head. “Now wouldn’t that be something.”  
  
“Indeed. Coordinates on the tomestone say the device was left somewhere in the vicinity of what is now the Porta Praetoria - but the men there already conducted a search and found nothing. However, all indicators point to the machine being somewhere in Ala Mhigan territory. The question I grapple with - and hope to consult your opinions on - is whether the Fourteenth Legion can...maintain its current standing order to hold onto Ala Mhigo while diverting resources to search for and ultimately excavate this device,” Gaius said, nodding.  
  
“If I may?” Rhitahtyn asked. Gaius considered him for a moment; the Tribunus Militus may not have had the luck to be Garlean-born, but that hardly mattered in the face of his skill and experience.  
  
“Of course. Go ahead.”  
  
“Do it,” Rhitahtyn said without hesitation. “Speaking freely, we’ve been sitting in Ala Mhigo for how long? And though we’ve done much to fortify our positions, pacify the local populace, and prepare for the re-invasion of Eorzea, nothing the Fourteenth has accomplished in these years has substantially changed the realities of what an invasion of Eorzea would have to deal with - the Eikons, I mean.” The roegadyn shrugged, his armour clanking as he did so. “Emperor zos Galvus may not be wanting us to invade Eorzea now, or the past years - but it’s going to happen eventually. When that time comes, whether tomorrow or a decade from now, having something like this Ultima Weapon is going to save countless lives, Garlean and Eorzean. You owe it to the men under your command and to the Eorzeans we will be liberating to use every tool at your disposal.”  
  
Gaius said nothing for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I am inclined to agree.”  
  
“Now, normally, I would be agreeing as well,” Nero said, putting a gauntleted hand on the chin of his helmet. “But this - this black-robed fellow sets me ill at ease. You say he gave you this tomestone - did he have...conditions?”  
  
“None. He told me that I could do with the information as I liked.”  
  
“And he did not speak of his own goals?”  
  
“No, save for the fact that he thought it sensitive enough to withhold from me, and that his plans would be easier to carry out if Eorzea’s eyes were on our invading forces.”  
  
Nero hummed in thought for several moments before shrugging. “As your Tribunus Laticalvius and head of the Legion’s Frumentarium, I would caution you against doing anything that might work to the favour of this...mysterious masked man of ours.”  
  
“And as Nero tol Scaeva?”  
  
“As...a friend to you, I would say, finish decrypting all - and I mean  _all_  - of the information on that tomestone. If the masked man hasn’t, say, hidden some vital information from you about how the machine works and what it’s capable of, go ahead. If the Ultima Weapon can be safely used by Garlemald, then there’s no reason to not dig the thing up, whatever it is. The fact that the masked man give you the details about its whereabouts would be of no concern at that point, since - I assume - you have no intentions of being his subordinate.”  
  
“And if the masked man has omitted some crucial fact? Some critical piece of intelligence?” Gaius said slowly.  
  
“That’s - honestly the answer isn’t as clear-cut as I think it seems. The only thing worse than working off of faulty information is making assumptions about something you know nothing about,” Nero said with obvious distaste. “Even if this man has greater designs we know nothing of them. I would almost wager it’d be worth it to continue with the plan just to try and figure out an inkling of what this man wants from us.”  
  
Gaius considered this for a minute before nodding. “Yes. Once again, I am inclined to agree. Livia, you’ve been quiet. I would have your thoughts on the matter,” he said, turning to face the Tribunus Angusticlavius.  
  
“I serve you in all things, my lord,” Livia replied with a bow of her head. “Whatever you choose to do, I trust that in following your decisions I will be best served.”  
  
“Hmm. I will - yes. Very well. I want you to know that I value your...contributions very highly,” Gaius said gravely. “Well enough, then. I shall have Manius and his engineers continue their work before we proceed. Dismissed.”  
  
  


* * *

**16TH SUN OF THE SECOND ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
“Alright, folks, almost the last order ‘fore lunch break! Keep it together! Front station, two breakfast hashes, two specials, fish stew, two aldgoat steaks, on deck!”  
  
“Oi, oi! Man wants medium rare, not raw, you daft bastard! Flash it an’ get the thing back out!”  
  
“Miss Jossy! Me station’s outta garlic - I needs more, quick-like!”  
  
“Hey, we’re eighty-six on blue-cheese!”  
  
“You fuckin’ - how’s the hell are we outta-? JOSSY! Get belowdecks and figure out how the fuck’s our supply down!”  
  
“Guys! GUYS! Me stove’s fucked!”  
  
“Git - shite - Hanson! HANSON! See if ye can’t be fixin’ Susuli’s stove!”  
  
Kanna worked furiously, shouting orders and assisting people in her station - and then it was over.  
  
“LAST ORDER’S OUT!” Lyngsath shouted. “Good work, good work! Deep breath, everyone relax, we’ve got a bell-and-a-half ‘fore we open for lunch. Clear yer stations, have a bite. Jossy - get yer apprentices to be takin’ dishes.”  
  
Kanna sighed in relief as she began washing her tools and clearing away trash and scraps from her station; a few minutes later she packed away her knives and tools, went downstairs to grab her sword and returned to the main floor of the Bismarck, walking straight over to Lyngsath.  
  
“Ah, Kanna, you said you ‘ad a meetin’ or summat?” Lyngsath said. “With Idertuuya’s girl, aye?”  
  
“Ah, yes, Lyngsath, I did. And yes, I will be meeting with Baatarsaikhan. Will it be alright if I step out?”  
  
“Don’t be askin’ me that - a’course! Don’t worry ‘bout bein’ late or such - we’ll get someone to cover for ye if yer late. You do yer meetin’ as you please, right?”  
  
“Thanks,” Kanna said, patting Lyngsath on the arm - she couldn’t reach the tips of his shoulders unless she jumped - and left the Bismarck, sword at her side and her clothes heavy with sweat. The cool mid-morning breeze was welcome, and by the time Kanna was most of the way to the Drowning Wench she was smiling.  
  
The sight of the purple-haired Xaela sitting at a two-seated table smoking her pipe and drinking from a tankard killed that smile immediately.  
  
“OI! Kanna, oe’er here,” Baatar said, waving.  
  
Kanna walked over to the table, nodding and waving at Baderon - who was looking increasingly nervous - and sat down.  
  
“Eh. Kanna, can I be gettin’ ye a drink? Beer?”  
  
“Sorry. Beer and I do not meet well. I can hold liquor quite well, but ales disagree with my stomach,” Kanna said coldly.  
  
“Well, if ye want anythin’, just be sayin’ so and I’ll be buyin’,” Baatar said, scratching at her head uncomfortably.  
  
“So? I got your letter fron the mail-moogle this morning. You wanted to meet. We are meeting.”  
  
“I - hrm. I’m...sorry if I’d done y’any offense the nights before,” Baatar said slowly. “I...I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”  
  
“Really,” Kanna said, frowning.  
  
“I - look,” Baatar said, scowling, “I gets it. We don’t be agreein’ on the hero business. That’ll be the way’a things, I wager. But there’s no needs fer us to be wantin’ to murder each oe’er, you ken?”  
  
“I understand.” Kanna sighed and rubbed at her horns. “And - and I am sorry if I offended you. My visions were...do not lend themselves to simple explanations, sometimes. But they have all been true, have come true, Baatarsaikhan. I promise you. If you and your siblings appear in my visions as heroes of the realm, then it will happen. Maybe not as you could imagine it, but...but yes. It will come to pass.” She paused, then leaned back to look at Baderon. “Excuse me, Master Tenfingers?”  
  
“Aye? Kanna, y’want somethin’?” Baderon shouted back.  
  
“I will take a Summerford Punch without the pineapple, please,” Kanna said.  
  
“Right then. I’ll get that t’ye right away.”  
  
“Ale hurts yer stomach, but rum, sugars an’ oranges is fine?”  
  
“Yes,” Kanna replied. “That’s not a problem, is it?”  
  
“No,” Baatar said, rubbing at her horns. “Ah, shite. Lookit. I didn’t mean to be snappin’ at ye and I’m sorry. Can ye be takin’ that?”  
  
“I can.”  
  
“Alright. I knows...I imagine you did a lot to be packin’ up from Othard an’ comin’ t’Eorzea, aye,” Baatar said sadly. “I, uh, I didn’t means to be implyin’ you were soft or the like. An’, well, if I ever do tire o’ sailin’, I can be sayin’ that maybe I won’t mind travellin’. Adventurin’.... softlike, you ken?”  
  
“I understand. And I, I suppose I can accept that. After all,” Kanna said dryly, “I have seen it happen already.”  
  
“Well it ‘aint happenin’ quite yet, Kanna. But maybe in a few moons, or maybe a few years. But I hears you’ve gone’n done yerself goodly at the Bismarck, eh?”  
  
“Senior Chef. I was promoted not too long ago.”  
  
Baatar let out a whistle and shook her head. “Now that’s workin’, that is. Maybe I oughtta be comin’ through some day. Ye make food from Kugane, eh?”  
  
“A little,” Kanna said. “Sadly I know very little of Steppe-cooking; I’ve asked your mother for help, as well as Terbish and Oyuun. Sadly your mother seems more a woman of swords and spears than cookery, your uncle Terbish is always busy doing his healing, and Oyuun’s...she knows the basics, yes, but she’s a baker first and foremost.”  
  
“I...ye know me family as good as or better than I do, eh,” Baatar said with a sad smile. “Well, I knows Steppe-cookin’ quite proper-like, thoughs it’s simple-like compared to what you’s make, I imagine.” She shrugged and Baatar looked at the ceiling. “Aye, there’s kumis, fermented milks, dumplin’s an’ roasted meats. Not much else besides that’n stews, aye. The spices - Eorzea’s not got the spices I’ll be needin’, though.”  
  
Baderon walked by the table and dropped off a cup filled with clear, sweet cocktail; Kanna took it graciously and drank from it.  
  
Baatar drank her ale.  
  
Silence.  
  
“Yer sword,” Baatar said after a long while. “Yer a - what’re they called - samurai I thinks?”  
  
“Ronin. I have no liege and no lord,” Kanna explained.  
  
“Ye look...unhappy to be sayin’ so.”  
  
“Well, you know my thoughts on the matter. I had expected to be travelling with a band of heroes, not to find three salty sailors who’ll sooner be drinking and fighting on the seas than travelling the land,” Kanna said with a smirk.  
  
“Oi, oi, don’t ye be startin’ nothin,” Baatar said scowling. “I jus’ meant, I bring up yer sword - lookit, fancy like, white-wrapped and summat. I just were thinkin’ it looked a nice thing, and ye got a big frown on yer face when I does so.”  
  
“Ah, it’s not you - I’m sorry. This is one of my swords;  _Akatsuki_ , the red moon. My mother forged it as a going-away gift for me,” Kanna said wistfully. “The other of my blades is...less decorated, given to me during my service in the Sekiseigumi - you’re aware of them?”  
  
Baatar shook her head.  
  
“They are Kugane’s law enforcement, akin to the Yellowjackets, I’d wager,” Kanna explained. “In any case, a man from the Blacksmith’s Guild has been troubling me for one of the swords, as he wishes to learn of how they were forged.”  
  
“Ye tell him to go fuck hisself?”  
  
“I - well not in those terms,” Kanna said, looking away for a moment. “But I did say that I would not be parting with my blades in a polite, yet firm manner.”  
  
“I’d’a told ‘im to put ‘is pecker in ‘is own arse, I would,” Baatar spat.  
  
“Suddenly, your behaviour when we first met seems more and more understandable,” Kanna mused. “You seem a very combative woman.”  
  
“Aye. Some fuckwit gets in me face ‘bout wantin’ my shite or summat, I’ll not sit there all proper-like and be takin’ it.”  
  
“Have you always been so...aggressive?”  
  
“I dunno,” Baatar replied. “I jus’...I’m me, ye ken?”  
  
Kanna held back a small laugh and shook her head. “You really are a character, aren’t you.”  
  
Baatar groaned and chugged down the last of her ale. “Lookit. I’m a simple woman, I am. I like drinks. I like fightin’. I like me family. Oh, and a good lay, that’ll be fine, too.”  
  
Kanna shot Baatar a dirty look. “We are in public!”  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“Never you mind,” Kanna groused. “Still, I-”  
  
“-oi, hold it, yer sword, it’s curved? What’s the colours?”  
  
“What?” Kanna said, frowning. “Black scabbard, black hilt. Why?”  
  
Kanna flinched as Baatar tossed her empty flagon at someone; she turned and saw the same man - Rymond - who’d been troubling her for her swords yelp as the tankard slammed into his face.  
  
“OI! YE FUCKIN’ SHITEBIRD! THAT’LL NOT BE YER SWORD - DROP IT, OR I BREAK YER FUCKIN’ LEGS!” Baatar screamed, barelling towards the man; Rymond shouted in surprise and bolted out of the far exit of the Drowning Wench. “KANNA! GET ‘ROUND THE SIDES SO WE CAN BE CUTTIN’ THIS THIEF’S PECKER OFF!”  
  
Kanna narrowed her eyes and took off towards the exit behind Baatar’s chair, unslinging her sword and moving it to her belt; she watched as, off in the distance, Baatar’s screaming figure chased Rymond down one of the ramps towards the main deck of the city-  
  
  
 _“-leave me alone,” the man shouts, backing up to the piers outside the Fisherman’s Guild. “I just want to look at the sword - Twelve! Just give me a minute with it, come on!” -_  
  
  
Kanna snapped back into focus and wheeled around, making way for the ramp by the Bismarck that would take her down to the aetheryte plaza; she rounded the curving ramp and found the artisans repairing the aetheryte and the people sitting on the plaza shout as Baatar, dagger drawn, chased after Rymond, screeching threats and curses far too lewd and offensive for Kanna to consider. Still, she had found her prey, and took a side street to head Rymond off; in short order she and Baatar had managed to send him down the road towards the piers, and soon enough the two of them cornered the man on the end of a pier. He glanced at the sword, at the two Auri women staring him down, glanced at the water behind him.  
  
“Would you just leave me alone?” Rymond shouted. “I just want to look at the sword - Twelve! Just give me a minute with it, come on!”  
  
“Ye want to be handlin’ this? Or should I be tearin’ this shitebird’s ‘ead off?” Baatar growled.  
  
“Rymond,” Kanna said, stepping forward. “Give me my sword back, and I will let you walk free. But I swear to you, if you do not unhand that blade in the next five seconds I will cut you down.”  
  
“I - what?”  
  
“Four.”  
  
“You can’t!”  
  
“Three.”  
  
“Pirate’s code,” Baatar spat.  
  
“Two.”  
  
“Never steal from a fellow Lominsan.”  
  
Kanna lunged forward in a white-pink blur, put her hand to her belt and drew her blade across Rymond’s chest, repositioned her hands, twirled her blade and slashed his throat, before hopping backwards with her second sword in her left hand.  
  
Rymond crumpled to the ground in a spray of blood and gasping air.  
  
“The kami and the Twelve watch over your soul, you thief,” Kanna said, flicking the blood off her red blade before sheathing it.  
  
“Shite,” Baatar said, blinking. “Ye fucked ‘im up good, ye did.” She walked over to the corpse and kicked it a few times, then grinned. “Fuckin’ idiot. Ye think he ‘as coin on ‘im?”  
  
“Leave him be!” Kanna shouted. “Enough that we had to slay the man to retrieve my blade.”  
  
“‘Es fuckin’ dead, Kanna. We don’t take ‘is coin, someone else’ll be doin’ it.”  
  
“And that would be us,” came a shout from behind. Both women turned around to find a trio of Yellowjackets, axes drawn, at the other end of the pier. “Twelve, you two chased this sod through the entire city to cut him down? The fuck did he do to ye?”  
  
“He took my katana,” Kanna said, showing her black-sheathed blade. “It is a gift from my time before coming to your fair city - a gift from a military superior. I asked him to give it to me, lest I cut him down, and he refused.”  
  
“Well,” the roegadyn leader of the three guards said with a grimace. “There’s a right idiot for ye. Rule one. No stealin’ from other Lominsans.”  
  
“Am I to be detained? Charged with grave punishment for the killing of this man?” Kanna said uneasily.  
  
“What? No,” the officer said with a shrug. “Honestly you probably did the poor sod a favour. Stealin’ - stealin’ an heirloom item like yer sword, he’d be sentenced to the mining camps up in Outer La Noscea. Aye, but yer not supposed to be stabbin’ folks what run in the streets. I’ve seen ye before - yer that lass that works the Bismarck? Does the raw-food?”  
  
“Yes,” Kanna replied.  
  
“Ahem! I, Sergeant Metal Rain, as an officer of the Yellowjackets and empowered by the law, do sentence you - what’s yer name?”  
  
“Kanna Minamoto.”  
  
“I sentence ye, Kanna Min-a-moto, for the killin’ of a man in retribution for heirloom-theft, to two moons o’ community service at the Bismarck,” Metal Rain said with a grin. “Your pay’ll be the minimum it can be at yer workplace, and this poor bastard ‘ere, ‘is goods an’ coin’ll be requisitioned to the city guard. I’ll be seein’ Guildmaster Hyllsbornsyn to make sure he knows, an’ we’ll be checkin’ on ye in a sun or two to be doin’ some paperwork. So says I, taken witness by all present. Alright,” Metal Rain, jerking his head at Rymond’s corpse. “Maetithota,” he said, nodding at the female roegadyn standing next to him, “grab that body and let’s get back to headquarters.”  
  
Baatar watched the trio of officers go, and let out a whistle. “Fuck. That were some fancy swordplay, Kanna.”  
  
“There’s nothing to be pleased about. Had that man simply unhanded my blade he would still be living. We could have avoided this,” Kanna said, sighing.  
  
“Ahh, fuck’im. Every sod knows there’s no stealin’ from a Lominsan. That, an’ no slave-making. Two rules. Even I can be rememberin’ two fuckin’ rules,” Baatar spat. “If ye didn’t kill’em, rightly I’d imagine someone else’d do’t. Or he’d be fucked, workin’ the mines ‘til he died of exhaustion or somesuch.”  
  
“You truly care nothing for the man?”  
  
“No,” Baatar said, raising an eye. “Why should I be doin’ so? If he were stealin’ food for ‘is family or summat, I’d wager those Yellowjackets would’ve been right pissed, they would. But ‘e stole yer - yer sword, and somethin’ important to ye at that ‘cause he wanted to be knowin’ how to make ‘is own sword. Man like such is worth less than th’air he breathes.” The two women stood on the pier for a long while, together, quiet.  
  
“I… I should probably be going to clean my clothing,” Kanna said, looking down on the blood spattered across her robes. “And also explain that I’ve just, ah, removed a member from the Blacksmiths’ Guild.”  
  
“Y’wan me to come with?” Baatar asked.  
  
“I...if you’ve nothing else to do.”  
  
Baatar snorted. “Kanna, the Kweh’s at Moraby an’ I’ve a fat coinpurse. There’s drinkin’ an’ eatin’ to be done.”  
  
“I - yes. Well, you can go tally things up with Baderon - I imagine he’ll be concerned that you ran out on him without giving him coin for the drinks.”  
  
“Come on, then. Let’s be gettin’ ye cleaned and proper.”

 

* * *

 

 

**10TH SUN OF THE THIRD ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
“Well,” Momolk said, sitting on the floor of Oyuun’s living room, eyes glazed over and her mouth askew, “would ye look at this.” She sifted her hands through the small mountain of gil which was piled up on the carpet, then flopped onto the floor, letting the coins trickle from her hands. “Gods damn, I think I could be dyin’ a happy woman, I could.”  
  
“Ho there,” Baatar shouted as she came through the door. “I’m ba - the fuck’s goin’ on ‘ere?”  
  
“Ah, well, we finished selling the first round of soap bars.” Xomni’to’s tone was dry with amusement as he flipped through a heavy, thick tome on the fur-lined couch. “So, of course, Momolk rushed home after we ate lunch, emptied the coin-chest onto the carpet and has been rolling around in her pond of gold ever since.”  
  
“A pond today, aye. Next week it’ll be an ocean!” Momolk shouted with glee. “Then a sea! Let no man or woman say that Momolk Molkoh weren’t a rich woman when she passed!”  
  
“Oi, how’s we gonna count all the gil if you’ll be swimmin’ in the stuff?” Baatar said, laughing.  
  
“Count ‘round me!”  
  
“Aye, Momolk Molkoh, th’tale of the dock-rat what died when ‘er mountain’a gil done crushed her dead,” Baatar scoffed. “Anyroads, Oyuun and Edward, they oughta be closin’ shop in a bell or so - an’ they’ll be right pissed, they will, findin’ that you’s covered the floors in coin.”  
  
“Ahh, up yours,” Momolk sighed as she raised herself into a sitting position. “Come on, then, let’s be countin’ coins.”  
  
Xomni’to joined the pair and they sat, laughing and sharing stories while they counted, until just under a bell later they sat in front of a mountain of gil, neatly stacked with parchments laid out; Xomni’to held the papers in front of him, squinted for a moment, then whistled. “So, uh, we’ve not even dipped into the second quarter of our stock and we’re sitting on just shy of five hundred thousand gil.”  
  
Momolk drooled slightly for a second before wiping at her mouth. “Say it again, brother. Say it again.”  
  
“Five hundred thousand gil.”  
  
“Oh, gods, can ye think of anythin’ sweeter-soundin’?” Momolk moaned longingly.  
  
“We can be doin’ much more, too,” Xomni’to added. “We’ve been selling the first bunch flat at one-hundred-fifty gil - as we lose stock and do more research on what scents people’ll be liking the most, I’m sure two hundred gil - at the minimum - is within reach.”  
  
“Fuck me with a fishing pole,” Baatar breathed, shaking her head. “Why, we’s could be payin’ out Oyuun’s brewery right this sun, we could!”  
  
“We could,” Xomni’to confirmed with complete sincerity. “I did a bit of digging around - the old warehouse me’n Momolk used to...live in, aye, after the Calamity nobody ever did build anything on the land. The deed’s owned by the Maelstrom, actually - owner died. We can be havin’ the space - it’s easy enough to be room for a brewery, a restaurant, and a storefront all alike.”  
  
“Huh,” Baatar said, nodding. “Who’d be thinkin’ ye’d be buyin’ out yer old hiding-hole, eh?”  
  
“I can think of no better revenge on...whatever caused our poor circumstances,” Xomni’to said with a small smile.  
  
“Aye,” Momolk chirped happily. “Who’d be thinkin’, of all things, soap’d be puttin’ money in our coffers, eh?”  
  
“We’re home!” Oyuun said, coming through the door with Edward. “Oh, you g - hey! What’s all th - Twelve,” she said, her expression going from annoyed to astonished in a matter of seconds. “Is...is that gil?”  
  
“Aye, ‘tis,” Momolk said with a grin. “Jus’ under five-hundred-thou, piled up right’n yer carpets.”  
  
Edward let out a small whoop and shook his head. “Now that is quite some gil you’ve got there, Momolk.”  
  
“So?” Baatar asked, getting up to hug Oyuun and slap Edward on the back. “With me share’a this gil an’ what I’ve been givin’ ye, you’ll have ‘nuff to be startin’ the brewery, I thinks.”  
  
“Goodness. I didn’t think you three would be coming up with the money so quickly,” Oyuun said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “And, well, I can’t just close down the Rising Loaves at the moment - I have orders paid in advance up until the end of the moon.”  
  
“Well I’m not sayin’ y’have to be droppin’ everythin’ at this here moment,” Baatar noted with a shrug. “But maybe it’ll be best to be buyin’ up the space you’ll want now, case some sod has ‘is eye on’t.”  
  
“I...I suppose, yes,” Oyuun said in an odd tone.  
  
“Something the matter, love?” Edward asked, rubbing Oyuun’s shoulders.  
  
“It just feels, well, strange, to leave the bakery behind,” Oyuun said slowly. “I worked there when I was a little girl. I took it over when I was sixteen and I’ve been there ever since. It feels...well, it feels a little wrong to just be closing up shop.”  
  
“Who’s to say you can’t be bakin’ at all?” Momolk pointed out. “Hells, ye can still be callin’ the place, like, ‘Rising Loves Brewery’ or somesuch, an’ once ye’ve got the brewing set up ye can be doin’ some bakin’, too.”  
  
“I - well I think I wasn’t expecting you three to have the money so fast. I thought it’d be a year, maybe two more before then.” Oyuun shrugged weakly. “Well, maybe I ought to look at wherever this place you mention is - Xomni, I know you’ve been looking around this neighbourhood. Did you ever found out what’s up with the old warehouse?”  
  
“Aye, I did. We’re free to buy it - Maelstrom owns it, matter’a fact. Deed’ll be costin’ around two-hundred-fifty-thousand gil, if I recall’t right. An’ whiles the place was a tad grimy, it’ll be plenty spacious - an’ I’m sure with some finaglin’ you can get all the machines an’ ovens and whatever you’ll be needin’ to do everythin’,” Momolk added.  
  
“That’s...a lot cheaper than I thought it’d be,” Edward noted. “Especially so if yer thing ‘bout all the space is true.”  
  
“Eh. Shipping’s still not back up, people have less gil than they used to. Most, anyway,” Xomni’to said, jerking a head at the pile of coins on the carpet. “So I figure it might be a good thing to be purchasing that warehouse, and soon.”  
  
“Aye, I s’pose when ye put it that-away,” Edward said, nodding. “Of course, this’ll only be so if you still want to be opening a brewery, loves.”  
  
“Hmm. I - I do,” Oyuun said, nodding. “But, you know, running a bakery was hard enough. And while I can do some brewing - this here’s a whole new kind of beer, no? And if you three go gallivanting back to sea, that’s just Edward and I to run the whole operation.”  
  
“Well, if yer lookin’ for souls to be takin’ work from ye, there’ll be shortage,” Momolk said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Why, you don’t even need t’be goin’ far to find’em. Just lay out the cheese and you’ll have ‘nuff dock rats to be runnin’ yer brewery - and yer bakin’ - a dozen times over.”  
  
“Momolk Molkoh!” Oyuunchimeg gasped, putting a hand to her chest in a mix of shock and offense. “You can’t be saying that!”  
  
“Hold, cousin,” Xomni’to said, waving the irate Xaela down. “While my sister was a bit... crude, you cannot say she is wrong, aye? What’ll you be givin’ these kids? Hot meals, good bed, proper pay - any honest folk’ll take that, an’ for the dock rats you’ll be giving’em all they want or need. Treat ‘em right, and I can’t rightly imagine there’d be...trouble, or fuss, or the sort. Hells, spin this to the Admiralty right, and I wager you could be gettin’ coin-a-plenty for this.” Xomnit’o shrugged and smiled. “Dock rats’ve been a problem since Limsa was formed - and while you can’t be solving the problem by yourself, you could be helping both yourself and the poor dock-folk at once, ken?”  
  
“Hmm. I suppose when you put it that way...” Oyuun mused, nodding thoughtfully. “It really doesn’t so bad, does it?”  
  
“Ehe, aye, an’ that-away yous’n Eddy can be raisin’ as many lil’ buggers as you please, without worryin’ that yer, ehe, gettin’ to know each other real goodly don’t produce no tykes,” Momolk said, smirking.  
  
“Oi, oi, that’s an idea! Saves ye the trouble’a worryin’,” Baatar shouted, snorting a laugh. “Then ye can be focused on the pumpin’ and not pumpin’ out kids-”  
  
“MOMOLK! BAATAR!” Oyuunchimeg screeched, throwing a nearby ladle at the pair. “THAT - I - HOW-”  
  
“Oh, come on, cuz, we’s all know’t,” Baatar dodged the ladle and ducking behind the couch. “We’s heard you! Why, we’s walkin’ down past ol’ Edward’s place and the whole city can be hearin’ ye from a block aways-”  
  
“YOU WILL STOP THIS...THIS...STOP, OR I WILL STRING YOUR GUTS UP FROM THE WINDOW!” Oyuun aimed and threw a cast-iron at Momolk; she rolled out of the way, laughing while Edward and Xomni’to shifted to the side of the room - and out of the line of fire.  
  
“Hey, not my fault!” Momolk dove behind the couch with Baatar. “Looks, I’ve been puttin’ up with Baatar an’ Miss Raen - the two’ve them, so thick in the head!”  
  
“Yeah, she- wait, wot?” Baatar sputtered, glaring at Momolk.  
  
“Oi, come on,” Momolk leered with a smarmy grin. “The twos of ye, the lusty, hot tension between yous’s thick ‘nough to cut with a knife. Just two young, fiery women with passions ablaze-”  
  
“-GET TA FUCK!” Baatar howled, attempting to grab Momolk; the lalafell instead scrambled onto the top of the couch, rolled down it and took off towards the door, narrowly dodging another hailstorm of kitchen implements from Oyuun’s direction before barreling out of the front door, pausing only pop her head in a final time with a wide, mad grin.  
  
“Just outta curiosity,” she sang, “when the two of ya finally give inta yer base desires and tear each other’s close offa one another in a fit o’ passion, how much do ye want me to hock the tickets for?”  
  
“SHUT YER FUCKIN’ MOUTH!” Baatar vaulted the couch and took off after Momolk at full speed.  
  
Xomni’to, Oyuun and Edward blinked as the pair vanished from sight and looked at one another as the sounds of the two pounding down the stairway echoed into silence.  
  
“So. Uh. Should one of us be goin’ after the two’ve them? Y’know, ‘fore they’re liable to kill the other?” Edward said, scratching his head. “I, uh, get the feelin’ this won’t be ending pretty.”  
  
Xomni’to walked over to the icebox and pulled out a jug of water, poured himself a glass and sat down. “Eh. I won’t be worried about it. This happens all the time at sea. At least once a sun. Maybe twice.”  
  
Oyuun - scowling - set about picking up the various utensils, tools and sundry goods she’d thrown at Momolk up off the floor, returned them to their drawers and racks before sighing, and staring at the small mountain of gil on the ground.  
  
“Afternoon,” Idertuuya said a moment later as she hobbled through the door; she looked around the room, then sighed. “So. I, uh, just saw Baatar screaming bloody murder and chasing a cacklin’ Momolk down the street. Is, uh, there something I need to be... worried...” she trailed off as she eyed the small mountain of gil on the floor. “Oh, gods. That’s...I - I think that’s more gil than I’ve ever rightly seen in once place in my life.  _What did you and your sisters do?_ ”  
  
Xomni’to silently followed her gaze for a moment before slowly looking her in the eye. “I assure you. All of this gil was made through perfectly legal means, and not via Momolk selling tickets to watch Baatar and Miss Kanna form the beast with two backs.” he assured her solemnly.  
  
“Well that’s a fuckin’ relief, ain’t it,” Idertuuya responded in a tight voice.  
  
Xomni’to winced slightly at the response. “Right, coulda worded that better. We’ve just been selling our soap - Momolk dropped by The Harbor Herald’s printhouse and got some labels made. Here, see?” The miqo’te rummaged through his pack and tossed a parchment-wrapped bar of soap to Idertuuya.  
  
She caught it and looked at it; a crude logo of a lalafell holding a flower in one hand and a bar of soap in the other adorned the front, and the back bore a small slogan: “Molkoh & Kha - for when smelling like swine-shite don’t cut it. Produced in and imported from Old Sharlayan. Est. 1-7U”  
  
“Right,” Idertuuya muttered, frowning as she tossed the bar back and sat down at the dining room table, removing her wooden leg. “And, of course, I imagine you’re selling the privilege of a Molkoh and Kha bar for the low, low price of twenty thousand gil, your firstborn child and all a sod’s teeth?”  
  
“One-hundred-fifty, thank you very much,” Xomni’to sniffed in affronted pride. "Possibly pushing two hundred, maybe more, depending on our sales.”  
  
“That’s...quite expensive.”  
  
“True,” Xomni’to said with a shrug. “But considering ours - for now, anyroads - is the only soap in the entire realm that leaves you smelling clean and not just feeling so? I’d wager it’s a fair price. I’m sure once shipping returns to normal plenty of folk’ll be selling it for cheaper. But until then…”  
  
Idertuuya sighed and rubbed at her horns. “I...well that’s not illegal. And I suppose your scented soaps are a luxury item. I’ll say, though, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, it does.”  
  
“Truthfully, Baatar and Momolk wanted high prices so we could be funding the brewery purchase quick-like,” Xomni’to said with a shrug. “Prices’ll stay high no matter who would be doing the importing, too. But,” he said, walking over to Momolk’s pouch and fishing a well-worn notebook, “Momolk’s been trying to replicate the recipe. No luck yet, but - well, you raised her, you know what she’s like.”  
  
“You three are a real handful,” Idertuuya said, sighing. “Gods, I can’t believe I - or any of the others - raised you without dying of heart-stop.”  
  
  


* * *

  
**15TH SUN OF THE FOURTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Ul’dah**  
  
  
“Well well! Look at that. Why, if my eyes serve me right, it’ll be the Little Kweh’s crew, returned to my fair city,” Momodi Modi said with a bow. “Now what are you salty bunch doing in the deserts of Thanalan again?”  
  
“Ayy, Momodi, good to be seein’ ye,” Pfarberk said, walking over to the counter and hugging the (comparatively) tiny woman. “And it’ll be the Bigger Kweh, now - Maelstrom done upgraded our ship all nice-like, they did.”  
  
Momodi let out a whistle. “That’ll be something. So, fine sailors, how do you fare? Will you be staying long in Ul’dah?”  
  
“Ahh, ‘fraid not,” Arnar lamented sadly. “Just ‘til sunset tomorrow - me’n the cap’n’ll be meetin’ with Teledji Adeledji ‘gain, workin’ out what to be bringin’ back ‘ome, then we’re off.”  
  
“Well, almost two whole suns in Ul’dah is plenty of time to be seeing the city,” Momodi said soothingly. “So? You’ll want rooms, I wager?”  
  
“Aye,” Pfarberk said. “Sixteen double-bedrooms, please.”  
  
“That’s no problem. I’ll need a deposit - and the price is the same as last time, if you recall?”  
  
“Aye, I do,” Pfarberk said, pulling one of several coinpurses from his satchel and emptying its contents on the counter. “Should be ‘nuff there - I counted ‘forehand.”  
  
Momodi flicked through the pile of coins with practiced ease and efficiency before opening one of the many large books sitting in front of her, and began scribbling with a quill. “Very good! That’s in order - Otopa!”  
  
A young lalafellin man working down the counter looked up. “Yes, Miss Momodi?”  
  
“Go fetch me the keys for...floor five, A through G, floor six, B, C, and F, and floor seven, A through F.”  
  
“Right - one second.” Otopa ducked behind the counter and returned a few moments later with a large keyring; Momodi took it and passed it to the sailors. “Keys are there, you know the rules. Come back down for a drink when you’re done settling in!”  
  
Baatar and the other sailors said goodbye to Arnar and Pfarberk, went upstairs and dropped their bags off; once they returned to the main floor many of the sailors broke off into their own smaller groups, taking off into the city. Baatar, Momolk and Xomni’to both went over to see Momodi after she beckoned to them; she finished pouring a few tankards of beer to be carried away by one of the servers, then turned to face the three as they sat down at the bar.  
  
“So, so, how’s my favourite three sailors?” Momodi said with a grin. “Ready to make the best use of your time, eh?”  
  
“Pink highlights,” Baatar half-shouted.  
  
Xomni’to, Momolk and Momodi stared at her in bewildered silence for a moment.  
  
“You do know,” Momodi said with a bemused expression, “that the point of a...common phrase between friends is that you be subtle about it.”  
  
“Do I looks a subtle woman to ya?” Baatar said with a grin.  
  
“No. I suppose you really don’t,” Momodi said, shaking her head. “Oh! And on that note, do any of you happen to know a white-haired Au Ra woman? She came through here and asked about that - and said she was looking for you three, in truth.”  
  
“Kanna?” Baatar asked.  
  
“Yes, Kanna...Minamoto, she said her name was,” Momodi said, nodding.  
  
“Aye, we know her. We’ve met in person more than once now, actually,” Xomni’to explained. “She works at the Bismarck, now.”  
  
“Oh! Well, that’s nice,” Momodi said thoughtfully. “Well - hrm. Anyhow, Momolk, I, ah, I’ll be in touch with our mutual friend. In the meantime why don’t you and your brother head to the Goldsmith’s Guild and get fitted for those monocles?”  
  
“Aye, that’ll be good,” Momolk said eagerly. “Be nice to not have me sight all askew.”  
  
“Is it bad?” Momodi asked quietly.  
  
“Nah, not bad, but ‘nough to be right annoyin’, it is. Like, sometimes I’ll be reachin’ fer a tankard or summat and I’ll be missin’ it by just a hair or such,” Momolk said sourly. “It’ll be good t’not worry ‘bout such.”  
  
“Well, I’m sure Serendipity will take good care of you. And what ‘bout you, Baatar? Planning on shouting at menfolk to tear their clothes off for coin and drink?”  
  
“Oi, right, you’s never did say what did happen down in Vesper,” Baatar said with a mad grin.  
  
“Like I said, my lips are sealed.”  
  
“Ahhh, y’old hag, that’s no fun!”  
  
“Call me a hag again and you’ll never find out whether or not you, in fact, paid a man to strip naked and dance on a table,” Momodi said in mock sorrow. “So? Really, though, what’s the plan for you, Baatar?”  
  
“Well maybe I’d be thinkin’ the bloodsands, they’d be a nice thing to be seein’, but then las’ time there were that fuckwit who tried to be seein’ me in ‘is bed,” Baatar said, scowling. “Chase ‘im off - and that were a while ago, aye - but I still don’t like th’idea of that sod bein’ ‘round ‘ere somewhere.”  
  
“Uh, this man - he wasn’t wearing a red coat, was he?” Momodi asked.  
  
“Eh? No, ‘e ‘ad a blue coat. Oh, scar up the right side’ve ‘is face, too,” Baatar added thoughtfully.  
  
“Oh, thank the Twelve.”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Momodi sighed, evidently relieved. “Well, you could go and, y’know, actually see Ul’dah in all her glory. There’s more to her than bloodsands and drink, Baatar.”  
  
“I - ooh, aye, I barely did eat a thing when I was here las’ - oho! I’m off! Be seein’ ye!”

* * *

  
Xomni’to and Momolk both stood outside the Goldsmiths’ Guild - a lavishly decorated archway festooned with gems and gold plating, in the centre of which stood a set of bronze and silver-plated double doors. The two walked in to find a long, semicircular hall not unlike the Alchemists’ Guild, with a front desk to the right and an open workspace to the left, where dozens of artisans were hard at work cutting gems, and engraving pieces of jewelry.  
  
“Hello,” a hyuran woman at the counter said. “Looking to purchase something?”  
  
“Actually, we’re here to see Guildmaster Kempton, on behalf of Lady Lilira,” Xomni’to replied. “We have a monocle-fitting session paid for in advance.”  
  
“Oh, goodness - yes, please, just a moment.” The woman took off down onto the workshop floor; she disappeared around a corner and came back several minutes later with a tall, lavender-haired hyuran woman whose clothes were as lavish as her finely-styled hair. She walked over to the two and shook their hands, a wide smile on her face.  
  
“So! Uh, yes, right, well, I’m Serendipity Kempton, but you can call me Sera - now I am a close friend of Lady Lililra and when she paid, in advance, for ‘two sets of the finest monocles you can fit’ for a Miqo’te and Lalafell with a little bit of trouble seeing in one eye each, let me tell you I was so very excited to know that my friend had made another friend - oh, gods, I’m rambling.” The woman stepped back, took a breath, and smoothed out her dress. “Right. Hello.”  
  
“Nice to be meetin’ ye, Guildmaster,” Momolk said with a slight curtsey as Xomni’to bowed. “So, you knows ‘bout our circumstance?”  
  
“Oh, yes, she explained - that awful Dreadwyrm managed to get you good, I imagine. Anyhow - just follow me and we’ll get you two sorted!”  
  
Serendipity led the two into a side room; the interior was fairly small, consisting of little more than a desk bearing several crates and a mirror, as well as several contraptions and tools that neither Molkoh recognized.  
  
“Alright, then, if you two will just take a seat, I’ll get you nice and measured,” Serendipity said, drawing a line of measure-leather from her belt. She worked quickly and in short order had a sheaf of parchment full of measurements; next, she unrolled several posters on the far wall, and tested the two’s sight both near and far. Satisfied, she sat down across the two and pulled one of the crates off the stack and popped the lid open.  
  
“Now, since you two have been given a lot - and I really do mean a lot of money to work with here, you two have the choice of anything and everything we can make,” Serendipity said with a mad grin. “You have the run of our full materials-store and I personally will be making the things - so if you can think it, I can make it,” she said, gesturing to the dozens of tiny parts in front of her.  
  
“Really?” Momolk said, nodding slowly. “That’s - huh. Wow.”  
  
“Mhmm! The first step’s to pick what kind of lens-craft you’d like. You can pick from a multi-lens system, which’ll let you rotate between different lenses for better sight at close, medium or far distance; alternatively, you can pick a model which would consist of a single, layered, thick lens, which would be engraved with a custom aether-spiral channel and melded with several tiny wind and ice shards - which, if you have good aether control, would let you switch magnifications and focus without having to manually adjust anything.”  
  
“Ooooh. I likes the sound’a that,” Momolk said, nodding eagerly. “I’ll be wantin’ the magic one, aye.”  
  
“Really?” Xomni’to said, frowning. “And if you’re in the middle of combat or work that requires aether control? What’ll be the solution if you’ve no control to spare? The mechanical for me, Miss Sera.”  
  
“Ahh, well, I would say there’s no right or wrong choice. It’s a matter of personal taste. Now,” she said, scribbling down a few more notes, “is there a style you’d like? Any aesthetics you’d prefer?”  
  
“....round?” Momolk said after a moment. “What’s the choices?”  
  
“I’m glad you asked,” Serendipity said with a nod. She popped open another set of crates and spread out a half-dozen models of monocle and smiled. “These are just some examples; really, so long as there’s enough space to hold the lens itself and any melded gems you might need or want, you can do as you like. Make it as minimalist or as bulky as you like.”  
  
The two spent the next bell or so going over possible designs; ultimately, Xomni’to settled on a circular eyepiece which could, at the touch of a small spring-powered lever, deploy three other lenses which could be rotated into the lens-holder before being shut. Momolk, on the other hand, chose a simple, diamond-shaped piece with the aether-spiral lens. Both chose an alloy formed of wyvern obsidian and mythrite as the base components; Xomni’to’s would be plain and unadorned, while Momolk’s would have wave-like engravings upon the sides.  
  
“Well then! I should have these done for you by tomorrow morning,” Serendipity said as she ushered them out of the room. “Come by tomorrow around seven or eight and you can pick them up, alright?”  
  
“Excellent. Thank you, Guildmaster Kempton,” Xomni’to said with a small nod.  
  
“Aye, thanks t’ye,” Momolk added as the two left the guild.  
  
Both stopped outside the door and stepped to the side, looking at one another.  
  
“It just occured to me,” Xomni’to said slowly, “that we just received two sets of custom-fitted, custom-designed and custom-decorated monocles, each one using a cutting-edge design the likes of which neither of us has ever seen before in person, and constructed out of some very, very rare and expensive materials. And it’s being rushed by the Guildmaster herself so that we can have them before we leave tomorrow.”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk said with a content sigh. “That’ll be life when the, ahem, lady who’ll be at th’top’a Ul’dah herself pays yer bills for ye.”  
  
“I was going to ask Serendipity how much the things were going to cost,” Xomni’to said, eyes flitting about, “when I realized that the last time we were in Hawkers’ Alley I saw someone selling a chunk of mythrite - a flat disk that’d barely cover my palm - for just under three thousand gil. We’re getting ours made, on rush order, out of a mix of mythrite and wyvern-obsidian, which I have quite literally never heard mentioned of a few books on the rarest metals in Eorzea.”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk said, nodding. “There’s a problem?”  
  
“No,” Xomni’to said with a frown. “I, hrm. I see you’re taking full advantage of this relationship with this Lady Lilira.”  
  
“Oi, oi, don’t you be insinuatin’ that I’ll be pinchin’ gil from Lady Lili herself,” Momolk said, scowling. “I’ll like the benefits, aye, but she’ll be my friend - that were a sun I’ll never forget. If she says she’ll be payin’ fer some fancy eyepieces I’m no idjit - I’ll be takin’ it. But I’ll not be stealin’ gil from ‘er coffers, neither.”  
  
“I - that’s not what I meant.”  
  
“Y’sure?”  
  
“Aye." He paused, then shrugged. "Just feels strange.” Xomni’to shook his head. “Decade and a bit ago, we were wonderin’ where our next meal would be comin’ from. Now we’re...what, hobnobbin’ with Ul’dah’s elite, makin’ more gil than we could ever be imagining, travelling the realm by sea.” He sighed, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Ye bothered by’t?” Momolk asked quietly.  
  
“No.” He paused. “Maybe sometimes. Why us, eh? What’d we do to be deservin’ all this?”  
  
“You recall what aunty Idree’d said t’us when we was first in her place, eh? Somethin’ ‘bout how her Steppe were fair ‘cause it were brutal day-to-day, but it were rough fer everyone - an’ how Eorzea’s not a fair place, aye? You ken?”  
  
“I ken. Doesn’t mean that - that sometimes it rubs me the wrong way.”  
  
Momolk shrugged. “Jus’ the way’a things, brother.”  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
“Y’need time?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Momolk sighed and patted her brother on the leg. “Maybe a bite t’eat, some book-readin’ at the Ossuary? Would you be feelin’ settled that-away?”  
  
“I think so, aye.”  
  
“Come on, then. I’ll be knowin’ a place to be gettin’ pastries.”  
  
“You paying?”  
  
“Why, o’course, brother dearest. Momolk Molkoh’s a woman’a buisness now!”  
  
  
After a quick lunch, Xomni’to bid his sister goodbye and took the aetheryte to the Thaumaturges’ Guild; deciding that she would try and find Lady Lilira, Momolk teleported over to the Quicksand and entered the tavern to find a familiar-looking lalafellin woman with strawberry-blonde hair sitting at the bar, drinking tea and delicately picking at a pile of pastries. Saying nothing, Momolk crept up to the bar and slid into the stool next to Lilira.  
  
“Goodness. Those pastries of yours most certainly do look delectable,” Momolk said in her best, most effete Ul’dahn accent.  
  
“AH!” Lilira let out a squeal, jumping in her seat and dropping a slice of cake roll as Momodi began roaring with laughter. “You - oh, Nald and Thal, it’s just you, Momolk! A pox on you for surprising me!”  
  
“Heh. I thoughts it’d be fun to be scarin’ y’a’bit. No harm meant,” Momolk said, hugging the woman.  
  
“Ah, it is good to see you, all the same. When Miss Momodi sent word that you and your friends had returned to Ul’dah for a short stay I cleared some time in my schedule at once,” Lilira said, smiling. “That I get to come here and enjoy a nice snack is, of course, yet another benefit of our meeting. So? How have you been?”  
  
“Good, good. Why, since we’s last spoke, I been to Gridania, an’ Old Sharlayan, too,” Momolk said proudly.  
  
“Goodness. I have never had the pleasure of visiting Sharlayan - is it true? Is it really a nation of isles and towers, full of learned people and great inventions?” Lilira asked, eyes bright.  
  
“Uhh...well the inventin’ were good, aye. They’ve machina that’ll wash yer clothes for ye. And scented soaps - oi, I’ve somethin’ to be askin’ ye but that’ll wait a moment - anyroads, that’ll be it. Rest ‘o the place is a shitehole, it is.”  
  
“Momolk’s got the right of it, if you ask me,” Momodi added. “You’d think a place with such history and so many scholars would be an exciting place to visit. Not so. Sharlayans eat nothing but porridge, gruel and broth, and they drink even less. They grow crops and raise stock, yes, but the quality food they make is strictly for testing, at least the last time I was there.”  
  
“Aye, it’ll be so,” Momolk said with a scowl. “What a pisspot.”  
  
“Goodness. I suppose, then, that my travel books and reports on the place have...spoken a little too well of Sharlayan’s exotic delights,” Lilira said thoughtfully. “How is your family? Xomni’to and Baatar and the other sailors?”  
  
Momolk spent the next three bells telling Lilira about her family, her time at sea, her adventures across the realm. Of Baatar and her fiery temper. Of Xomni’to’s quiet smiles. Of Oyuun and Edward and their brewery. Of Limsa Lominsa slowly rebuilding. Lilira listened, speaking little and interjecting less; she seemed transfixed by Momolk’s recounting of her daily life, an odd look on her face that Momolk couldn’t quite place, but guessed was a mix of melancholy, happiness, interest and longing.  
  
At last, though, Momolk exhausted her arsenal of tales, and for a few minutes Lilira simply drank tea and ate pastries in seemingly content silence.  
  
“I must say,” Lilira said at last, a tight smile on her face, “your life seems so adventurous and full of...vitality.”  
  
“I’s an odd history,” Momolk said with a shrug. “Dock-rat, taken in with me brother by Steppe-refugees, bein’ a sailor...it’s odd, aye, but a fun life.”  
  
“I can imagine.”  
  
“You’s barely spoken ‘bout yerself,” Momolk noted, tone cautious.  
  
Lilira sighed. “My life is lived in service to the Sultanate and the Sultana. I imagine every city-state of Eorzea has a great many number of difficulties to grapple with in the running of their countries, but if you would permit me the complaining, I would say that...Ul’dah faces challenges unlike any other. Ul’dah’s coffers overflow with gil, and yet there is never coin for public works. We have goods flowing in and out of Ul’dah at speeds akin to before the Calamity, and yet the Divan of Commerce can barely keep our taxes profitable and our ledgers clear. What time I - and most of the others in the Sultanate - have is spent entirely in keeping our nation above the sands.” Lilira shrugged, a small, sad smile about her lips. “This is our burden. Where others may think of adventure, ours is the duty to keep Ul’dah whole and hale.”  
  
“That….that sounds awful shite,” Momolk spat with obvious distaste. “Aye, Limsa’s a different beast, she is. The Admiral - and her Admiralty says to be turnin’ left, th’whole city goes. They says we’s to be takin’ up arms, we grab musket ‘n cutlass.”  
  
“That kind of control must be...useful,” Lilira said slowly.  
  
“I s’pose it’ll be so.”  
  
Lilira stared into her teacup. “Do you think that your Admiral’s authority ever oversteps the will of the citizenry of Limsa Lominsa?”  
  
“I’unno,” Momolk said with a shrug. “Admiral’s the Admiral. Merlwyb says, we do. Limsa’s a ship, she is, an’ ye don’t disobey the ship’s cap’n ‘less you thinks yer cap’n’s gone soft or daft.”  
  
“So if Admiral Bloefhiswyn were to...make poor decisions, or choose a course of action that would endanger Limsa Lominsa without good cause, would you follow those orders?”  
  
Momolk opened her mouth, then paused, frowning as she closed it. She thought for nearly a minute before speaking, and when she did her tone was uncertain. “I...well I can’t rightly say. I means, if, say, Limsa were under siege from fishbacks an’ she ordered us lots to be runnin’ from the city, I’d follow. If she said we’d be standin’ an’ dyin’ to protect ol’ Limsa, I’d be standin’ an’ dyin’. I’unno. Maybe if she says to go runnin’ into the fishbacks wi’out weapons, I’d not be listenin’.”  
  
“That sort of loyalty sounds admirable.”  
  
“Aye, well, that’ll be how it goes,” Momolk said with a shrug. “If y’er on a ship an’ she’s takin’ water, an’ yer cap’n says to start a-bailin’ with cup’n bucket, ye fuckin’ bail. And if ‘e says to be abandonin’ ship, ye jump quick-like. Life or death.”  
  
“Life or death, hmm?” Lilira said, nodding. “Yes. Yes, I understand.” She paused, then pushed her empty teacup and teapot away. “No need to refill it, Miss Momodi, I’ve had enough tea for the day, I think,” she said, waving Momodi off. “I think, though, that is enough philosophy and politics for the sun. Now, you mentioned your scented soaps - I myself have had the luxury of using such things, though my imported stock from Sharlayan has long since dried up. You say that your ship brought some for sale - but that you also had something else to speak of?”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk said with a smile - and more than happy to change subjects. She pulled a small notepad out of her tunic and set it on the table, then flipped over to a page covered in notations and diagrams.  
  
“Oh. Oh, you clever, dastardly woman,” Lilira said, shaking her head in amusement. “You’re trying to reverse-engineer the recipe.”  
  
“Hehehe, aye, you’ve got the mark,” Momodi said with a toothy grin. “So those old shites in Sharlayan says I can’t be takin’ their recipe - well sod’em! I thinks I’ll figure the thing myself.”  
  
“Well, Momolk, with a recipe like that you’d possess a thing that’d be the desire of just about every merchantman, alchemist and craftsman the realm over. What, would you hold onto the recipe?” Lilira asked.  
  
“What? No? I’m sick’a folks everywhere smellin’ like pig shite,” Momolk said with a scowl. “Why’s I want to be keepin’ a good smell to meself? Now, I’d say...the smart thing t’do, that’d be auctionin’ the thing for’n ocean a gil, aye.” Momolk paused, then smirked at Lilira. “But, alas, I’s a dumb, brainless sailor-lass from Limsa who only knows saltwater ‘n fish ‘n shite. Be a right shame, see, if some goodly woman were to offer a bit’o gil, exchangin’ such-like for a royalty pledge...oh, an a pastry or two,” Momolk said quietly, “well, then, a right tossup that’d be.”  
  
Lilira’s eyes widened. “No.”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk said. “Now, I just hears from someone that Ul’dah, her coffers an’ her taxes, they’ll not be right or summat. But what’s a thing that’ll always be wanted? And what’s a thing that could be cheap to make, aye, sold fer cheap too an’ makin’ a profit ‘sides? Why, soap, I’s thinking.”  
  
“You wouldn’t,” Lilira breathed, looking around to reassure herself that nobody was within earshot. “You’d - the entire Syndicate,” she whispered, “they’d be fuming if the Sultanate got ahold of that recipe instead of them.”  
  
“And wouldn’t that be a sad, sad thing,” Momolk sniggered. “Six goodly men with more coin than sense losin’ a thing fer once, most likely after they’ve spent months rammin’ daggers into each other’s coinpurses. Right shame, that.”  
  
“You,” Lilira said, shaking her head, “are a much more dangerous woman than you let on, I think.”  
  
“Wot? Me? Nah,” Momolk said, grabbing a pastry from Lilira’s plate and stuffing it into her mouth. “I’s a good lass, I am,” Momolk said in between mouthfuls of dough.  
  
“The ‘goodly woman’ who smiles and pretends to be ignorant? Those are the most dangerous kind of all,” Lilira said, laughing slightly.  
  
“Aye, maybe that’ll be so. Now, here’s a thought - I’s done tell you that, ahem, if a woman were to be knowin’ the way to be makin’ scented soaps, that she’d be best served sellin’ that thing to the Sultanate, aye. But...but how’s everyone else to be knowin’ the thing?” Momolk whispered. “After alls, no person with any brains would be doin’ such a thing. The right thing, aye, that’d be auctionin’ the know-how. So, ye know, if I were a cold-hearted woman - if I were, y’understand - I’d be tellin’ everyfolk I know that there’ll be an auction the day the recipe’s known.”  
  
“Well, yes, of course,” Lilira said, a wide, toothy smile spreading across her face. “And for a such a recipe - one which would make the owner of it unfathomably wealthy with great ease, why, you’d be mad not to think such a thing would be astoundingly expensive. Why, I could imagine such a simple paper bearing that knowledge might go for several hundred thousand gil - maybe even more!” Lilira said, eyes shining.  
  
“Aye,” Momolk said, nodding. “Hehe. You ken?”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“Good. Good. Very good,” Momolk said with a smirk. “Now, Miss Momodi, I’ll be needin’ a plate ‘a pastries for meself. I done all this thinkin’ and I’ve gone an’ made meself right famished, I have.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**21ST SUN OF THE FIFTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 2 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
Baatar, Xomni’to and Momolk waved goodbye as they split off from the other sailors; they’d spent the last three moons travelling the seas from Old Sharlayan to Gridania; they’d managed to time it so that, this sun, the Bigger Kweh would arrive in Lominsan waters during the day. It was roughly three in the afternoon, and as the three siblings walked from the piers to the apartments above Terbish’s clinic, they chatted excitedly about what they’d be eating and where they’d be drinking when they stopped a good five minutes away from the apartment.  
  
“Ho-lee shite. Would ye fuckin’ look at the thing!” Baatar shouted, pointing excitedly.  
  
There, at the corner of the street, was the warehouse they’d helped Oyuunchimeg purchase before they’d last left Limsa Lominsa; the warehouse had been renovated and painted, and in the place of the old, run-down lot stood a two-storey wood-and-brick building. An engraved sign hung over the front door, bearing a stylized logo of a Xaela woman - distinguished by haircut and horns - holding a loaf of bread in one hand and a tankard of ale in the other. A plaque by the door bore the brewery’s hours of operation and a sign:  
  
  


_The Rising Loaves Bakery & Brewpub_

_Bread, Beer & Traditional Xaela Cuisine_

_Established 2-7U_

  
  
“They did’t,” Baatar said slowly, eyes bright and a grin spreading across her face. “Twelve and Nhaama, we did’t. Y’hear?” Baatar said, turning to Xomni’to and Momolk, pulling them into a hug.  
  
“Baatar?” Xomni’to said. “You...aye, they did. They did open the brewery.”  
  
“I - piss - fuckin’ - gods,” Baatar breathed, tears beginning to stream down her face. “YE FUCKED UP, GARLEAN SHITE-STAINS! YE THINKS TO BE RUININ’ US AND WE FUCKIN’ DID BETTER, WE DID! Y’HEAR?” Baatar crumpled to her knees, sobbing and laughing and hurling insults at the sky for several minutes as Momolk and Xomni’to held onto her, and for a good five minutes they stayed that way.  
  
“Oi, oi, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Momolk said patting Baatar on the back. “Yer good, sis, yer good.”  
  
“Aye, aye, aye, I’m a’right, I’m fine,” Baatar said at last, getting to her feet and wiping tears from her face. “Ohhh, gods, am I fine.”  
  
“Y’sure?” Momolk asked uncertainly.  
  
“Aye, I’m good. Sorry. Jus’ had to be gettin’ that outta me system,” Baatar said after a moment. “Gods. Only way I’d be better is if I had me a blunderbuss, a crate ‘a powder’n’shot, an’ a nice, big fuckin’ line a’ Garleans to be shootin’ int’a.”  
  
“Well, you have the blunderbuss,” Xomni’to said, nodding at the sawn-off shot-gun hanging on Baatar’s belt. “Now we just have to find you some Garleans.”  
  
“Well that can be a-waitin’, I s’pose,” Baatar said, nodding. “Come on, then, let’s be seein’ this place. Hells, last we were here, this were no more than a fuckin’ shack, it were. How’s they be buildin’ this place so quick-like?”  
  
“Ye feed dock rats a fat bowl a’ dumplin’s, give’em a nice hot shower wi’ nice-smellin’ soaps and y’offer them a warm bed, they’ll be workin’ as fas’ as a soul can work,” Momolk said, smiling. “Let’s be seein’ cousin Oyuun, aye?”  
  
The trio walked into the warehouse and were hit with a wall of smells - baking bread, beer-vats and frying meats. Before them lay a massive, open-floor brewery, with a small counter separating the brewing-floor from the small dining area by the entrance; a long line of customers from seemingly every walk of Lominsan life flowed from the counter, and several more besides were seated at the dining tables, drinking tankards of beer and snacking on bread, dumplings and khuushur. On the brewing-floor, Baatar spotted a mix of people - the dock-rat children and teenagers Oyuun had hired, mixed in with several other labourers who called Limsa home - hard at work tending to brew-vats and ice-casks. Edward, too, was on the floor, loading grains into a vat; Oyuun and Idertuuya were both working at the counter.  
  
“Wait, wot? Mum’s ‘ere?” Baatar said with a frown.  
  
“Shite, she says she were thinkin’ ‘a retirin’ - you thinks she did it?” Momolk said, astounded.  
  
“Well, perhaps we ought to go and ask,” Xomni’to noted, shrugging.  
  
“Fuck the line, I says - we’s put the money into the place anyhows!” Baatar said happily, walking up to the counter. Oyuun and Idertuuya both stopped when they realized she, Momolk and Xomni’to were standing before them.  
  
“BAATAR!” Idertuuya said, hobbling out from behind the counter and pulling the three into a hug. “Gods above, you return!”  
  
“Aye - oi, mum, you’ll be holdin’ the line up,” Baatar said from beneath her mother’s crushing embrace.  
  
“Ah, no worries,” Oyuun said with a grin as she slid a stack of coins into her cashbox. “Go on, set yourselves - one’ve the staff’ll give ye somethin’ t’eat, and then we’ll close down the line for a bit.”  
  
“No trouble, Oyuunchimeg,” a roegadyn in the line said. “Yer family’s back - no trouble at all!”  
  
The trio sat down at an empty table; a young hyuran boy with a messy head of red hair, clad in apron atop his robes - who could be no more than eleven or twelve years of age - trotted over with a wooden menu-board.  
  
“Hullo,” the boy said nervously. “You’s be Oyuun’s kin, aye?”  
  
“Just so,” Xomni’to said with a smile. “No need to be nervous, sir.”  
  
“I’s not a sir or the like,” the boy replied. “Name’s Gilbert, aye. Oyuun and Idree says ye can haves whatever you’s like.”  
  
The menu was small, and as Gilbert handed them the menu it took only a few second for her to skim through it.  
  


_DRINKS (ALCOHOLIC)_

_Cool-Beer: An Ul’dahn style of beer, unique in taste, smell and feel. Light and airy, cool-beer goes down as smooth as water and tastes as light as any wine. 65 gil / tankard, or 250 gil / jug. (Casks of varying sizes also available by single or bulk order. See front counter for details.)_

_Kumis: A traditional Xaela drink, consumed by all inhabitants of the Azim Steppe; made of fermented mare’s milk, this drink is slightly acidic and a refreshing choice for any time of the day. 35 gil / tankard. Our milk is sourced from Red Rooster Stead._

_Sake: A fermented rice-wine native to Doma & Hingashi. This drink comes to us courtesy of Senior Chef Kanna Minamoto of the Bismarck Restaurant; it boasts a unique flavour unlike any Eorzean drink. 65 gil / 8 onze cup (served hot) or, a higher quality serving at 200 gil / 8 onze cup (served cold)._

__

 

_DRINKS (NON-ALCOHOLIC)_

__

 

_Orange Juice: 20 gil / tankard. Our oranges are sourced from the Summerford Farms._

_Suutei tsai: A traditional Xaela drink, composed of cow’s milk and tea, lightly salted. 10 gil / tankard. Our milk is sourced from Red Rooster Stead; tea selection changes daily._

_Mare’s Milk: 15 gil / tankard. Our milk is sourced from Red Rooster Stead._

__

 

__

 

_FOOD_

_Buuz ( Steamed Mutton Dumplings): 80 gil for 10 dumplings._

_Khuushuur (Fried Mutton or Pork Dumpling): 100 gil for 5 pieces._

_Manti (Boiled Mutton or Pork Dumpling): 80 gil for 10 dumplings._

_Assorted pastries and bread: see counter for daily selection._

  
  
  
“We’ll take one of every dumpling, two tankards of cool-beer and one jug of the same,” Xomni’to said.  
  
“Uh...why not two jugs?” Gilbert said, confused.  
  
“Because,” Momolk said with a smirk, “Baatar here will be needin’ a jug fer herself.”  
  
“Oh.” Gilbert blinked, then glanced at Baatar. “Uh, yer sure?”  
  
“Boy, does I look like one tankard’ll do me good?” Baatar said with a grin.  
  
“No. No, ye don’t look like so,” Gilbert said slowly. “Right. I’ll, uh, be on me way.”  
  
The trio watched him go and Momolk sniggered. “I thinks ye scared the poor lad, Baatar.”  
  
“Wot? Why? I’m serious,” Baatar said, frowning “I mean, really, does I look like one tankard’ve ale will be doin’ me right?”  
  
“No, Baatar, you don’t. I think that’ll be why you scared young Gilbert,” Xomni’to explained patiently. “Seriously, have you seen your own reflection? You’re a muscled, horned, scarred sailor-woman. Your eyes are blood-red and glow white. Also, you’re sitting with a shot-gun on your belt and an axe slung ‘round your back.”  
  
“Aye,” Baatar said. “I don’t follows you. What’s the problem?”  
  
“Never you mind,” Xomnito said, sighing as Gilbert returned with their beer. “Just drink your jug.”  
  
“Oho, I will. Thanks t’ye, Master Gilbert,” Baatar said with a grin as she took the jug and began drinking from its side.  
  
“Uh...okay,” Gilbert muttered before scampering away.  
  
“I don’t look scary. Do I looks scary?” Baatar grumbled, taking another swig from her jug.  
  
“No, no, of course not. Why, ta most aurochs, ya look downright cudd-!”  
  
Momolk roared with laughter as she ducked underneath a barrage of utensils thrown her way.


	10. INTERLUDE: YEAR 3 & 4

  
**2ND SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 3 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
The Peaks, Gyr Abania, Ala Mhigan Occupied Territories**

 

“Legatus, sir! The engineers just sent the confirmation - aetherwarp-radiation and power signatures right beneath the mountain ranges at our one-forty. They’re waiting on your word to begin the blasting process.”

“Good.” Gaius nodded and waved the messenger away. “Have them begin at once.”

Alarums began to blare from the radio towers set up in the small base Gaius had constructed near the site Manius and his men had found; off in the distance, a small horde of engineers scurried about, double and triple-checking their charges before running to cover.

“ALL UNITS, THIS IS MACHINA TEAM ONE, BE ADVISED,” came Manius’ voice over the speakerphones. “SECTOR THREE BLASTING IS ABOUT TO BEGIN. ENSURE YOU ARE BEHIND THE SAFETY LINES. I SAY AGAIN: ENSURE YOU ARE BEHIND THE SAFETY LINES.”

Gaius watched in anticipation, his nerves flaring with excitement as the four-beep-tone echoed through the open mountains, followed by a long siren.

Silence.

The marked sector of mountain exploded in a blue-white shower of high-yield explosives; massive chunks of rock pelted the bunkers in both the base and the work camp in the range below, and though the noise was deafening, the reinforced cermet bunkers held fast. A stray rock managed to blow through one of the tiny viewing window-slits of the bunker Gaius was in, but he barely noticed the glass which bounced harmlessly off his armour.

All of his focus was on the clearing smoke.

Another moment of silence.

“All units, be advised, we have eyes on target! WE HAVE EYES ON!” Manius shouted.

And they did. Gaius did.

There, beneath the rubble and smoke and fire was the mighty metal head of the Ultima Weapon, bearing no scratches and no marks - as though the process of being buried within a mountain, then being blown out of the very same prison had no effect on the machina whatsoever.

“Excavator teams, stand by to complete excavation, engineering teams two through six, prepare for drilling machina airdrop, team one, stand by on command bunker…”

Gaius let the noise of the work crews fade into the background, staring at the eyes of the machina which would be Eorzea’s liberation.

For a moment, he thought it looked back at him.

“Well done, Gaius. Well done.”

Gaius spun around, gunblade drawn to find the same black-robed man standing before him, the smirk which seemed to be his only expression plastered beneath his mask.

“You,” Gaius spat.

“I’ll be out of your affairs shortly. I simply wished to, ah, congratulate you on your new find. I’m sure you will find the gift to your liking - it will, I think, exceed your every expectation.”

Gaius blinked, and the man was gone. Scowling, he sheathed his blade on his back and returned to the viewing window, arms crossed and his mood soured.

“Oh, and I think this will be the beginning of a wonderful partnership,” came the man’s voice from next to him.

Gaius didn’t bother to look this time.

 

* * *

 **16TH SUN OF THE THIRD ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 3 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Garlemald**

 

“PRESENTING! LEGATUS GAIUS VAN BAELSAR!”

Gaius walked through the double doors into the Imperial Chamber: a massive hall of steel and cermet, leading towards the throne.

The throne.

“Legatus van Baelsar.” The voice was old, sickly, raspy - but the undertone was as it always had been: cermet will, ice-cold and unwavering. “Come.”

“Yes, your Imperial Majesty.” Gaius walked slowly towards the throne and the old, white-haired man who sat in it; he stopped exactly fifty paces from the throne, knelt, and unsheathed his gunblade, laying it gently on the ground as he bowed his head.

Emperor Solus zos Galvus eyed Gaius, tapped a gauntleted finger on his throne.

“Your post, Legatus van Baelsar, is in Ala Mhigo. Explain your being here at once.”

“Yes, your Imperial Majesty.” Gaius withdrew a roll of parchment from his armour’s chest rig, and raised it aloft; one of the black-robed Imperial Guard slid silently out from behind the throne, took it, and brought it over to the Emperor, who unfurled it and read through it for several minutes.

“So. You have found this…’Ultima Weapon.’ And you wish for my permission to resume the invasion of Eorzea.”

“Yes.”

“Hrm. What makes you think, Gaius van Baelsar, that a single war-machina will let you succeed where previously you failed?” Solus asked, his tone caustic. “An Imperial Legion is not a toy to be played with. If you commit troops - my troops - to war, then you are spending my resources.” Solus rolled up the parchment and handed it to his attendant - who, in turn, returned to the spot behind the throne.

“I would not do anything so rash, your Imperial Majesty,” Gaius explained, still keeping his head bowed. “Our primary engagement with the Eorzeans failed due to Midgardsomr’s horde of dragons, not because of any Eorzean might. With Midgardsomr slain, the Eorzeans have only the advantage of their Eikons. Without the Ultima Weapon, an Eorzean campaign would no doubt have succeeded, though with grave losses incurred in...dealing with the threat of the Eikons. With the Ultima Weapon, that sole advantage is removed. With neither Eikons nor the dragon-hordes to save them, Eorzea cannot hope to match our numbers, our might, our technology, our will. Our victory is guaranteed.”

“Guaranteed? Is th-” Solus paused, then let out a long, wet, cough, before clearing his throat. “-is that so, Gaius? I seem to recall that you and your Fourteenth Imperial Legion claimed that your last campaign, too, was also ‘guaranteed’ to succeed.”

“Unforeseen complications with Midgardsomr and his hordes, my Emperor.”

“And, what, now you claim that you will not face any more complications? You can predict the future now?”

“Forgive me, my Emperor. I did not mean to presume as such.”

Solus opened his mouth, paused, closed it, spent several seconds breathing deeply.

Gaius waited.

“Hrm. So. You have your legions. You have your Ultima Weapon. Do you care to explain why - despite Nael van Darnus’ failure - I should allow you to expend Imperial resources in the conquest of Eorzea, when I would just as soon see the entire place burnt to the ground?”

“I - it is my belief that the Eorzeans can, in time, serve the Empire with honour and dignity, my Emperor. Though the races of Eorzea may call upon their Eikons, I believe they only do so because they are...primitive. Fearful. Disunited and afraid of the world around them.”

Solus considered this for a moment, then waved his hand. “Continue.”

“One does not...slay his own child for stealing desserts,” Gaius explained. “No, the responsible parent punishes the child. Explains to them that doing so is a violation of order. The ideal punishment is not to slay the child or to cut off their hand, but rather to castigate them in a manner appropriate to the misdemeanour. Would you agree, your Imperial Majesty?”

“I do,” Solus replied after a long pause.

“If one agrees with that sentiment, then, we need only apply that rubric to Eorzea to see how...burning the entire realm to the ground would be unnecessary. The common folk of Eorzea have done nothing to deserve the organized slaughter of them and their families. Their leaders squabble and fight over territory, ignore the needs of the people, provide weak leadership and ignore the savage beastkin who plague their lands. As...the rightful rulers of all Hydaelyn, should we, Garlemald, not carry out our duties as stewards? Is it our place to put every man, woman and child to the sword, simply because they have never been shown the proper manner of conducting themselves?”

“There are some,” Solus replied coolly, “that would argue for the torching of Eorzea no matter the...cause of Eorzea’s malcontent nature. You use your example of the child who steals dessert. Some might say that Eorzea’s children have not stolen dessert - they have slain, by accident, members of their own family and then claim ignorance as to their guilt. After all, Gaius, a crime made in ignorance is still a crime. Would you deny that, Legatus?”

“Of course not, your Imperial Majesty. Merely that - that if the good people who are trapped in Eorzea have the potential to be of use, to be honourable Garlean servants, that it would be a waste to simply slaughter them like livestock. If one animal in the coop is sick, we check to see if the others have fallen ill. We do not simply kill all of them for fear of the disease spreading.”

Solus tapped his fingers on the throne again.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Gaius did his best not to sweat beneath his visor.

“I will not grant you permission to carry out your invasion,” Solus muttered at long last. “But, neither will I say that you are forbidden from conducting yourself and ordering the troops placed in your care as you please.”

“I - yes. I understand, my Emperor.”

“Do you?” Solus said, glaring at Gaius. “Do -  _hurk_ -”

Gaius flinched as Solus spat up a glob of yellow-red phlegm upon the floor, then descended into a fit of coughing.

“Emperor,” the attendant said, scurrying back out from behind the throne. “Please, my Emperor, just relax - I’ll administer some relief.”

Gaius twitched.

There was a syringe of aqua vitae on the attendant’s belt, hanging from the left side.

His hand was going to the compact revolver on his right side.

Gaius roared with fury, snatched his own weapon, Heirsbane, from the ground and fired a single shot into the would-be-assassin’s head; blood spattered over the throne and Emperor Solus, and the man crumpled to the ground, leaking blood and brains on the floor.

“Hrm. The tenth time I have you to thank for saving my life,” Solus spat, glaring at the twitching corpse on the floor. “Yet another Captain of the Guard who will need to be brought out to the firing line. Pathetic.”

Solus and Gaius waited as more Royal Guard scurried into the room; most took up firing positions around the throne, while two more carried the corpse away. One guard moved to wipe the gore from Solus and his throne; Solus waved the man off with a scowl.

“Leave me be,” Solus growled. “All of you. Legatus van Baelsar here is worth more than any of you.”

The Royal Guard nodded, bowed, and ran out of the room, the doors sealing behind them.

Gaius set his gunblade back on the floor.

“This changes nothing, Gaius,” Solus said quietly. “Do as you like. You have been in my service long enough to know that I  _despise_  failure. Do not make me regret my pardoning of your prior failures, Gaius.”

“I will not disappoint you again.”

“Hmph. We shall see. Leave.”

“Yes, your Imperial Majesty.”

Gaius took his blade, bowed again and left the room; he was halfway through the Imperial Palace, heading at full stride to the hangars where his flagship, the Liberator, waited to bring him back to Ala Mhigo, when he noticed another armoured figure standing to the side of one of the hallways.

“Gaius,” the man shouted with cheer and mirth. “I had heard you would be returning to Garlemald - and yet you did not even mention as such to me.”

“Lord Varis yae Galvus. My apologies,” Gaius said, stopping and bowing before the armour-clad man. “My schedule was tight and my mind occupied.”

“Do you have a moment? Can I, at the very least, escort you at a leisurely pace to your ship?”

Only a third rate legionnaire would have been foolish enough to mistake that for an actual request.

“Of course. Your wish is my command, my Lord.”

“Wonderful,” Varis said, clapping Gaius on the back. “Good man. Now, as I understand it, you came here to meet with my honored granduncle regarding the...Eorzean situation?”

Gaius didn’t dare ask how the nephew of the reigning Emperor knew that, and instead nodded.

“That is correct.”

“Ahh, yes, I had hoped that was the case. Now, if I am not mistaken, you and your legion have...come across a tool that will be allowing you a great deal of flexibility during your planned invasion of Eorzea, yes?”

It took every onze of Gaius’ will not to stop and stare at the man.

Nobody beyond his Legion was supposed to know about the Ultima Weapon.  _Nobody_. Which, of course, meant that either Varis had his own sources within the Fourteenth Imperial, or that Varis had spies watching the Fourteenth Legion. Or both.

Gaius wasn’t sure which of the three was more worrying.

“Yes, Lord Varis. That is the case,” Gaius managed to say with only a little bit of stiffness.

“My good man! You need not worry so much,” Varis said, shaking his head, his tone smooth as butter. “Your information security is as tight as it needs to be. I only learned of it from the Royal Guard, who happened to overhear your conversation with my grand-uncle.”

 _If you think I believe that_ , Gaius thought grimly, _then you’re as stupid as you are dangerous._

“In any case, I just wanted you to know that...despite my grand-uncle’s misgivings, and the worries of those he surrounds himself with, you shall always have an ally in me,” Varis noted happily. “I can promise you little - you of all people know how, ah, driven my grand-uncle is - but, I can assure you, I will do everything I can to explain the realities of the situation as it is to him, and not as he wants it to be.”

“I appreciate your doing so for me,” Gaius muttered, “but it is hardly necessary.”

“Oh, come now, there’s no need to be worrying about favours,” Varis scoffed. “We are all servants to the Garlean cause. And it will be no trouble speaking to my grand-uncle; after all, I am not promising any results. Just that I will be doing the speaking.”

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Varis said as the pair entered the hangar where the Liberator was docked. “And, while I know that communications from Ala Mhigo to the homeland can be, ah, spotty at times, if you ever need any help with, well, any matter whatsoever, do not hesitate to contact me. I will do my best to assist you.”

“I appreciate your help,” Gaius replied, turning to kneel before Varis. “Your words have been very reassuring. Thank you, my Lord. I must be off, however; I have a schedule to keep.”

“Oh, goodness - please, go, go! My apologies for keeping you,” Varis said, aghast. “Please - be on your way. Best of luck, Legatus.”

Gaius nodded, turned and made his way up the boarding ramp of his airship; he watched Varis wave at him as the ramp shut.

 

* * *

  
Varis watched the  _Liberator_  take off into the skies above the hangar, and shook his head. “A shame. A real shame. What a waste of a good man.”

“Indeed, Lord Varis.”

Varis turned, his expression falling into nigh-on contempt as he observed the white-robed man next to him -who had always been standing next to him. The entity bore a thin smile beneath his red half-mask.

“But, it is as they say. Progress does not come without sacrifice. A pity - there are few men like Gaius van Baelsar in this world. Loyalty of that sort really is far too rare.” He cast a glance at the retreating airship. “You are...certain? That his venture shall not see success?”

“Come now. You think I, of all people, would be incorrect? That I would attempt to mislead you?”

“Answer the question, demon.”

The man’s - though Varis had his doubts about the nature of the thing before him - expression sobered . “Whether his venture shall succeed or fail, I cannot say. Perhaps Eorzea shall be brought to heel, perhaps not. But no matter the outcome, of one thing am I certain.”

The white-robed man walked out of Varis’ line of sight, and the Garlean knew him to be gone.

“The Black Wolf,” the man whispered, “shall never see Garlean soil again.”

 

* * *

  
 **14TH SUN OF THE THIRD UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 3 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

“Y’know,” Baatar said, setting her tea-mug down and drawing on her pipe, “I still can’t be thinkin’ it. Idertuuya of Kha, not in the Maelstrom? That’ll be a thing t’think.”

“Just because my skills used to be that of a warrior of the Steppe,” Idertuuya replied dryly as she pulled another kettle from the stove, “that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything else. What, are you going to be a sailor for the rest of your life because that’s what you do now?”

“Well I weren’t meanin’ t’be upsettin’ ye, mums,” Baatar muttered.

“You didn’t upset me, little warrior, I was just pointing the facts out. And that besides, I’m still working on contract for them.” She shrugged. “Paperwork and scheduling is far less rewarding than working at the brewery, to be honest. There, I handle cash, I pour drinks and I smile all day. There’s no scowling, no worrying about wayward soldiers or procurement orders. Just...family.”

Baatar said nothing for a while.

“I know you’re a….restless sort, Baatarsaikhan, but you should know there’s always a place for you here. In Limsa. At home.”

“Aye.” Baatar picked up her tea mug and took a half-sip before setting it down. “I know.”

“I was simply surprised to see that...you took to sailing the seas so easily. No offense, little warrior, but I thought you would chafe beneath the commands of a ship’s captain or the like.”

“Eh, I’ll not be a soldier-woman, I won’t,” Baatar mused. “When you’s a sailor there’s workin’ to be keepin’ th’ship a-floatin’, aye, but...but mostly beyonds that you’s free to be doin’ as ye like. No uniform. Drinkin’ an’ eatin’ as ye please, an’ such. Plus I can be seein’ the realm fer free, eh?” Baatar waved her mother off before she could open her mouth. “Aye, an’ don’t be goin’ on ‘bout how adventurin’s the same, I ken’t, I ken, a’right?”

“You ken and you believe it are two different things,” Idertuuya chided as she sat across from her daughter. “I just...worry. You have your axe and your drinking. I worry that you might...might grow tired of sailing and then just, just waste away into blood and ale.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is’t?” Baatar muttered.

“The fact that you don’t meet my gaze when you say such a thing speaks for itself. I’m not asking you to become a scholar or a poet or the like. There’s just more to life than martial prowess and waking up every other day with a hangover.” Idertuuya gazed out the window behind her chair for a moment, shaking her head. “A warrior’s life was noble countenance on the Steppe, before you say it. I’ve not turned my back on that. But even Bardaam himself was poet and a bard.”

Another silence.

“I can be cookin’, I s’pose,” Baatar grumbled at last.

“Well there you go. So long as you have more to your life than training to kill things and losing yourself in drink.”

“I’s not a drunkard,” Baatar countered, folding her arms.

“But you do drink.”

“Aye, an’ so’ll be everyone else in’the realm.”

“Baatar, you drink jugs of ale where men drink a tankard. Bottles of clear-spirit where folk drink a small-vial.”

“Aye, but I’ll not be needin’ the stuff.”

“Really.”

“Aye.”

Second-mother and child stared at one another.

Idertuuya sighed and rubbed at her horns. “So long as it stays that way, little warrior. Make it so. And, if you’re going to be lazing about today, you might as well come help out at the brewery. You can work on not scaring the children.”

“Oi, I’m no demon or the like. Why’ll’t be my fault the chillun’s’ll be ‘fraid o’ me?” Baatar sputtered.

Idertuuya shook her head and drank her tea. “Well, if the concept of facing a bunch of children is too much for you to handle the least you can do is help me move the day’s shipment to the Wench.

“Eh? What, you not got folks what do that for ye?”

“Yes, we do,” Idertuuya said, rolling her eyes. “But it is also important to have good relations with our larger customers, and there’s no larger customer for us than Master Tenfingers. So, sometimes, it is good to bring him the shipment of casks in-person, maybe add a few extra in for free.”

“And ye can be carryin’ such with yer leg?” Baatar asked, pointing at Idertuuya’s wooden leg, which was propped up against the kitchen stove.

“There’s this invention I have heard of - it is, if I recall, named the cart,” Idertuuya mocked. “Why, with but some wood and four wheels, it is possible to transport a gre-”

“Twelve! A’right! I gets it,” Baatar shouted, throwing her hands up. “Let’s be goin’ then to get yer casks!”

Idertuuya stifled a laugh, finished her tea and hobbled over to her leg; she strapped it on, and the two women left the apartment block, locking the doors behind them. Thought it was only seven in the morning, the brewery - which opened at six - already had a long line out the front door. Idertuuya greeted the customers, many by name, and led Baatar around the side of the brewery where Edward and a few of the children were rolling casks of cool-beer out from a small tunnel built into the side of the warehouse and onto a cart.

“Ho there! Mornin’ t’ye, Idree, Baatar,” Edward shouted. “Got the cart all loaded, if’t pleases ye.”

“Thanks, Edward. We’ll take it from here,” Idertuuya replied with a nod.

“Aye, I’ll do the pushin’,” Baatar said. “You just be watchin’ so I don’t be hittin’ nothin’ with th’cart, mums.”

“No problem.”

Idertuuya and Baatarsaikhan set out through Limsa Lominsa, Baatar pushing the cart up through the city. Soon enough, they arrived on the top deck of the city and brought the cask-laden cart into the Drowning Wench; the tavern was full of workers taking breakfast and, much to Baatar’s surprise, at least a dozen adventurers, their packs and weapons strewn about each table.

“Mornin’ t’ye, dearest Idree,” Baderon said, waving at the pair. “Ah, ye brought the cool-beer yerself, then?”

“I did, Baderon, I did,” Idertuuya replied as Baatar brought the cart over to the bartop. “There’s your two-dozen casks, large-sized, and an extra half-dozen thrown in for good measure.”

Baderon grinned, stepped out from behind the bartop and embraced Idertuuya with a wide smile. “Ahh, y’shouldn’t ‘ave! Won’t Oyuun an’ that Edward feller be needin’ the money for their own place, eh?”

“They’re already saving up to purchase the plot next to the brewery, yes, but it’ll come in time, Baderon. And look at you,” Idertuuya said, stroking Baderon’s well-trimmed beard. “Now, normally you look like a man who’s not seen a razor in years - I think I quite like your face this way!”

“Hold!” Baatar shouted. “What’s this, then?”

“What’s what?” Idertuuya asked.

“Yer strokin’ Baderon’s face all soft-like,” Baatar muttered, eyes flitting between the two.

“That’s a common thing for close, fine friends to be doin’, eh?” Baderon replied.

“Close? Fi - oh, hells no,” Baatar whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t be tellin’ me the two’ve ye...done-”

“-look, Baatarsaikhan, I’ve not interrogated you on what you do with your spare time either here or at sea,” Idertuuya said with a smirk, “but given the stories I’ve heard from your brother and sister I wager it’s not at though you’re a celibate prude of sorts. Neither have you asked my what I do with my time, and so I have not...detailed what I do when you’re away at sea.”

“BADERON!” Baatar screeched. “You been...touchin’ me mum all inappropriate-like, and you weren’t tellin’ me?”

Baderon rolled his eyes. “Now why’d I tell you such a thing - why, you’d be tearin’ the place apart!”

“I just might, ye shitebird!”

“Now, Baatar, that is no way to speak to Master Tenfingers here. Baderon is a fine Lominsan,” Idertuuya said, patting Baderon on the bottom, “and a finer-looking man to boot.”

Baatar retched slightly and threw up her hands in a mix of shock and frustration. “Gods. Degenerates, the lot’ve ye! Fuck this, I’ll be needin’ a drink.”

“Exotic miss of foreign lands, if I may, you do find yourself at the Drowning Wench,” Baderon sang with a foul rendition of an Ul’dah acent, “and I have heard suchly that a goodly person who seeks a drink may find one here.”

“I fuckin’ hate all of’ve ye.”

 

 

* * *

  


  
**27TH SUN OF THE FOURTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 3 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

“Ahh, welcome back. It’s good to be seeing the two of you again,” Thubyrgeim Guldweitzwyn said with a wave as Xomni’to and Momolk entered the Arcanists’ Guild. “I trust that your last journey was a good one?”

“Aye, it were. Jus’ a short trip t’Uldah, though,” Momolk explained with a smile.

“Short and profitable, with calm winds and gentle clime,” Xomni’to added. “A sailor can ask for no more, I think.”

“Well enough, then.” The roegadyn woman bowed slightly, adjusted her monocle and led the two downstairs into the testing area; she found a free pit for the two of them and opened the gate. “So, you two have both shown a great deal of prowess with your arcanima, but as I noted in my letter to you it is strange that neither of you have bothered to test for higher positions than apprenticeship.”

“Well, we don’t really spend that much time - stretches of time, at least - in Limsa Lominsa,” Xomni’to noted. “We felt it would be...unfair for us to accept higher ranks in the guild and the, ah, duties we’d be beholden to, what with our not being in town.”

“You do realize that the guild does allow adventurers - who are wont to spend their days gallivanting around the realm, working for gil and doing as they please - to hold higher station in the guild, yes?”

“Aye, we do,” Momolk replied with a frown, “but those folk, they’ll be comin’ back through on regular timin’ an’ such. We’ve no way’a knowin’ when we goes to sea and fer how long, eh?”

“Look. I understand that the two of you have some compunction against accepting higher rank in this guild, for whatever gods-damned reason.” Thubyrgeim rubbed at her forehead and sighed. “I have no idea how else I can say it. There’s quite literally no reason to decline the thing. The testing - well for the two of you, both of whom can summon carbuncles without problem and have fared well both at a sea and helping us with customs inspections, I cannot imagine it will take more than a few minutes.”

Both siblings looked at one another.

“Just give me your damned arrays,” Thubyrgeim groaned.

Xomni’to and Momolk both opened their tomes and flipped to open array pages; Guildmaster Guldweitzwyn took them both and examined them with a critical eye for several minutes. Satisfied, she pulled a chair from outside of the testing pit and sat down, smiling.

“See? That was not so difficult, no? We shall begin with yours, Momolk.” Thubyrgeim traced the complex array drawn on Momolk’s tome; it was a swirling, spiraling magic circle, with no easily-discernable sectors or delineations.

“Is’t a’right?” Momolk asked nervously.

“Alright? It is more than alright. Now this here is an interesting construction - you have no sectors. No quartered areas. No separate spaces for control nodes or aether accelerators- everything just flows together in one long, unbroken array with no connectors,” Thubyrgeim muttered. “Momolk, this is the sort of array the senior members of this guild experiment with in their spare time - and you’ve made this just...work?”

“Aye,” Momolk replied with an inquisitive look.

“Have you even studied unbroken array construction?”

“....no?” Momolk said sheepishly. “It weren’t hard or nothin’, Guildmaster - ye just...do the thing.”

“You’re saying you have an...intuitive understanding of your array.”

“Aye?”

“Momolk, you’re talking about knowledge of one-piece-arrays and linear-aetherlines. That - even I have trouble with that.”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Momolk,” Thubyrgeim shouted. “Look! Your construction isn’t flawless, not by any stretch, but you’ve designed an array - a functioning array - that would be the envy of many a senior guild member. This is what I am talking about when I say that the two of you should have been tested much, much earlier! And you, Xomni’to,” Thubyrgeim continued, handing Momolk back her tome, “your array must be the  _maddest_  thing I have laid eyes upon in decades.”

“What? How so?” Xomni'to groused. "I think it's just fine!"

“You said you were having problems controlling your array - and no wonder,” the irate roegadyn said, jabbing a finger at Xomni’to’s array. His book’s arrays were a complex maze of sharp angles and intersecting, overlapping circles which spiraled into a tiny series of hexagons and triangles at the core. “This is insane! Xomni’to, you know you need - at the very least - a sixty-forty ratio of control nodes to aether accelerators and the like.”

“I understand that, yes,” Xomi’to said slowly.

“Wonderful. Care to explain why your array has a ratio of - and I’m guessing here because I can barely follow your array’s details - about eighty-twenty? How did you even write some of these lines - I can barely see some of them!”

“Well, it’s not terribly difficult. First you take the smallest quill or pen nib you can find - if we go by Lominsan standards that’s number fourteen-c, then you take a knife and cut that down so it’d be akin to a theoretical number sixteen. From there all you need is a magnifier and a very, very steady hand,” Xomni’to explained.

“Oh, of course. How could I not have noticed,” Thubyrgeim groused. “I, too, sit down with a gods-damned microscope and a custom-made microquill when I want to make my arrays.” She shook her head and sighed. “No wonder you have no control - you’re running something like quadruple the aether the average array uses to summon a Carbuncle from an emerald. If you were summoning some sort of high-powered familiar like an obsidian or amber based one, then yes, you might manage to make use of this array. As it is though, your poor Emerald Carbuncle’s probably so full of aether it can barely figure out which way is forward!”

“Then the issue is not with my array, but with the quality of reagents I use in my summoning? Then it is no issue. I needs but upgrade my familiar to a higher tier of power, then,” Xomni’to said matter-of-factly. “It is good to know my array is constructed well.”

“I - you know what, I really cannot bring myself to care anymore. I have my hands full enough running this guild in place of the actual Twelves-damned guildmaster - who can barely be arsed to show up more than once every few years. You get how to fix your things, Master Molkoh, and I’ll not be held responsible if you fail to listen. Congratulations, you’re not apprentices. Welcome to full-time membership at the Arcanists’ Guild. Now get out of here - and maybe, just maybe, the two of you can spend less time doing these insane experiments that somehow work instead of blowing up in your faces and actually studying how array construction works so that you can properly appreciate just how, to borrow a turn of phrase from Master Wyrnzoen, utterly aurochshite you and your skills are. Do I make meself clear?”

“Aye ma’am.”

“Good. Get to it.”

 

* * *

 **28TH SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 3 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Ul’dah**

 

“Oh, Momolk, my friend, it is so, so good to see you again,” Lilira said, pulling Momolk into an embrace. “Your trip at sea was a good one, I trust?”

“Aye, it were,” Momolk replied with a smile. “Miss Momodi, a fine tea fer Lilira!”

“Goodness, no, it’s quite alright,” Lilira said, waving a hand. “I am most capable of paying.”

“Ahh, well, don’t be thinkin’ of’t as me payin’...think’ve it as a deal. I buys you yer teas and pastries and you, ehe, you’ll be givin’ me the latest dirt in Ul’dah, no?”

Momodi snorted and shook her head as she began pulling teacups, a teapot and a selection of glass jars from beneath her counters. “Look at you. Barely two hours in the city and you’re rooting around for muck. Frankly I think you might as well move yourself to Ul’dah at this point, and in a moon or two we’d have a new head of the Syndicate.”

“I’ll be takin’ that as a compliment and an insult in the same breath, so you might have a point there,” Momolk replied proudly. “So? How’s you been, Lilira?”

“I have been...fine,” Lilira muttered. “Things, as usual, have been hectic. Mind you, it isn’t anything that I and the others in the Sultana’s higher branches are not used to handling, and in fact our hottest fires have all been quenched. Now, the time is come to, ah, transition the government back into its normal mode of operation, which is to say that the constant struggle of balancing the many powers which keep Ul’dah running smoothly resumes once again.”

“Better or worse than dealin’ with th’Calamity’s shite ‘n all?” Momolk asked, glancing over her shoulder uncertainly. “I did see there’s...quite a few folk tentin’ up outside the city.”

Lilira’s expression visibly darkened, and her head hung in sorrow. “More than a few, yes, and more every day. We...we do our best, but I fear that it can never be enough. Even if we were to open our gates and allow every person shelter and bread, we would exhaust our coffers in short order - at least at present. So too do I have the sinking feeling that even if our coffers were limitless and the city of Ul’dah were as spacious as all Thanalan, that we would still somehow have not enough space and not enough coin.”

Momolk said nothing for a moment, tapping the bartop in thought. “Aye. I sees it. Still, more coin’ll be helpin’, no?”

“It will. And speaking of that,” Lilira perked up visibly as she coughed in her fist, pointedly looking everywhere but at her friend. “How fares our, ahem, mutual friend’s experience regarding the reverse-engineering of the Sharlayan soaps?” Lilira asked as Momodi brought the pair tea and a plate of pastries.

“Oh. Good. Excellently. I thinks,” Momolk replied in a low, casual tone, nodding along, “that it’ll be done Heavensturn or so. I’s done plenty’ve experimentin’ an’ it’s been goin’ perfect - the real issue, it’ll be the length of the thing. Takes near’n day to be makin’ a bar or so, then another six weeks to be curin’ - but, that be the way of things. Now...let’s say y’had gil. Lots’ve gil.” She looked around, noticing several folk sitting nearby clad in expensive looking coats, smirked to herself then raised her voice slightly. “Now, the way I hears it, if y’had a big fuck-off warehouse, with the right racking tools and somesuch, ye could be be cuttin’ the soap-makin’ down t’a single bell, an’ as little’s...four weeks? Aye, but ye’d need money ‘n space, and, well, the lass who’ll be doin’ this, she’s a poor woman.”

“Goodness. I must imagine that this woman of yours must be wanting to sell this recipe for a great deal of money - I know those rumours of an auction have been floating around, aye, but if one must also possess space, machinery, and the like?” Lilira thought aloud, making sure to pitch her voice higher. “If that is indeed the case, well, I can’t think that any old person would be buying this recipe. You’d need gil the likes of the Syndicate would have - who else would own factories enough to be making a proper quantity?”

“Aye, that’ll be so. Now me, I don’t know much ‘bout such, what with me bein’ a poor sailor ‘n all,” Momolk replied with a smirk, eyes glancing back as she noticed a few of the wealthy folk in the tavern dump coins on their tables and sprint out of the tavern at full speed. “Well done, Lady Lilira. Coudn’t have been puttin’ it better meself.”

“Oh, think nothing of it. This is fun compared to my day job,” Lilira scoffed. “Besides, this helps Ul’dah as much as it amuses me. I assume your siblings have no issue?”

“Eh? Nah. Me brother’s got no interest in nought that’s not in his books, an me sis, Baatar - well, long as she’s got drink, food an’ more often than not a skull she can bash in with her axe, she’ll not complain ‘bout nothin’, I wager.”

“And I trust they’re enjoying this fine city?”

“I s’pose. Baatar’ll be down at th’bloodsands, an’ Xomni’s doin’...I think he’ll be at the Ossuary or somesuch, doin’ ‘is readin’s.” Momolk shrugged, frowned. “Frankly I’ll not know why the two’ve them’ll be doin’ the same thing when we’s here’n’all.”

“If I can play the counter, you and I are sitting in the Quicksand, discussing...the news, let’s say, and enjoying ourselves some snacks.”

“Aye, but after we’ll be concludin’ our meetin’ I’ll be visitin’ shops, going fer a walk. Ul’dah may not be perfect, aye, but no place’ll be so, an’ ‘til the aetheryte’s up once more there’ll be no way to be gettin’ from home t’here in under a three-day. Seems a waste, I thinks.”

“Well, perhaps you can think of it as...those being the things they find most unique and most valuable about Ul’dah,” Lilira mused. “And, while I have not had the privilege of meeting either of them in person, I think it does speak to their personalities quite well, no?” Lilira took another delicate bite of pastry, chewed and swallowed, before patting Momolk on the arm. “I think it is a fine thing that you and your siblings are so close despite your disparate personalities. It is...refreshing to see a family united despite the odd circumstances which brought you together.”

“You’ve not spoken of yer family, Lilira,” Momolk said quietly.

“Yes. I have not.”

“I - sorry. I’m not meanin’ to pry or nothin’.”

“No, no, it is quite alright. Simply that there is little for me to speak of,” Nanamo replied softly. “Both of my parents were, as I am now, employed in the higher branches of the Sultanate. When the two of them died, it fell to me to continue the...family tradition of service. I was still young, and somewhat unsuited to the task, but the Sultanate thought it best for me to begin working towards my duties at a young age. That has been my life for as long as I can remember.”

“No siblin’s? No cousins?”

“No siblings. And what family I do have is, too, employed by the Sultanate. A proud family tradition of service and loyalty to Ul’dah,” Nanamo said in a voice that was both bursting with pride and profoundly morose. “So when I do not speak of family, it is in the same way that I do not speak of...festivities, or of romance, or of travel abroad.” She gestured around herself with open arms and a smile. “This is my life.”

Momolk considered this in silence as she ate pastries and drank tea.

“My apologies,” Lilira said after a moment. “I do believe I am late - more late than I can explain away, in any case, for an important meeting. It was good to see you for however brief our meeting this day was - and I hope that if you stay more than a sun I can arrange for us a more suitable meeting.”

“Keep well, Lady Lilira,” Momolk replied. “And here’s to hopin’ we’ll have a right proper time’a things next round.”

Momolk watched Lilira take off out of the tavern, then looked into her teacup for a minute.

“Miss Momodi,” Momolk asked, “Is….is Lady Lilira a’right? I mean, she seems right tired.”

“She is always tired,” Momodi replied sadly with a shrug. “Has been for a long time. She - and her colleagues - always have work to do. It’s the way of things.”

“The way of things, huh,” Momolk’s frown was hidden as she tore into another pastry. “...maybe that way should go bugger itself.”

* * *

 

  
**1ST SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 4 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

Heavensturn in Limsa Lominsa was always a raucous affair, but this year the energy in the town on the first day of the new year was approaching a fever pitch - because, as the Harbour Herald newspaper-criers had been shouting for the past few days, Limsa Lominsa’s - and Gridania’s - aetherytes were going to be activated on the evening of the first day of the new year. The entire Kha family - which now included Edward and his three sisters - had managed to grab a spot on the corner of the Aetheryte Plaza earlier in the day. They’d watched with delight over the course of the day as the blue-white crystalline spire which had been sitting in the middle of the city for the past few years, inert and without light, come to life; now, at exactly eight in the evening, working under the lights of lampposts and fire-crystal torches, the artisans were putting the finishing touches on several smaller crystal-metal structures when the lead artisan - a tall elezen man with a distinctly Sharlayan look and accent - stepped forward.

“Alright! Everyone, please stand back and under no circumstances should you enter our workspace. Everyone has their suspension-fields and aetherlines read?”

“Yes sir!” the artisans shouted back.

“Excellent! On three! One, two, three!”

The artisans began weaving spells and aether in a manner Baatar had never seen before; the long, tubular pieces of crystal and golden metals hovered into the air, taking up a spiraling pattern up and around the aetheryte crystal itself.

“Steady, steady, steady! Alright! Aetherlines, infusions on one, two, three-”

The crowds cheered as long, shining blue lances of dense aether shot out from the hands of the artisans working on the aetheryte; a long minute passed in silence, and then the aetheryte lit up, shining a brilliant ocean blue, an almost blinding aura of white light flaring to life before receeding into a dimmer glow. The tubular structures around the aetheryte began to spin around the crystal spire in slow, lazy circles, and the entire plaza erupted into raucous cheering which did not subside for what seemed like bells.

At last, though, the lead artisan clambered onto an emptied box of tools, picked up a linkshell-megaphone and tapped it to get the crowd’s attention. “Excuse me! Everyone, pl - please! Excuse me everyone!”

The crowd’s shouting died down into muttering over the course of several minutes, and the man nodded once he had most of the crowd’s attention. “Uh, hello everyone! So, uh...the aetheryte station is now back online, and we are, awaiting for confirmation from Gridania since their station should be online shortly. It is...uh, eight fifteen, and we will be opening the aetheryte for travel at nine, barring any complications. Now, uh, I’m afraid at the moment the only travel destination is going to be Ul’dah and you’ll only be able to travel there if you have attuned to the new aetheryte they constructed post-Calamity.”

The artisan’s words were greeted with a solid round of boos and jeers; the man threw his hands up in frustration. “I am sorry but that is simply the way of things,” he shouted, as several groups within the crowd began to filter out of the plaza.

“What,” Idertuuya snorted, “did people think their old attunements would work? Everyone’s aetherytes were blasted into craters! Why would their attunements be the same?”

“I wouldn’t place a lot of faith in the general public’s knowledge about aetherial travel - or anything magical, for that matter,” Xomni’to scoffed. “Though, in fairness, even I have trouble figuring out the exact mechanics of aetheryte construction.”

“Well weren’t the rules written ‘bout how things’d be workin’ in the newspapers, eh?” Baatar asked. “Even I reads the paper.”

All present slowly gave her flat looks.

“Alright, so I skim. Same difference!”

“About as much as there is ‘tween a sahagin and a kobold...” Momolk countered with a heavy sigh.

“Well, Baatar’s lackin’ in readin’ besides,” Caroline - the older of Edward’s sisters - snorted, “it’s a right shame we’ll not be takin’ the ‘ryte anyhows. Well, ‘cept fer you three,” she added, pointing at Baatar and the Molkoh siblings.

“Ah. Well, perhaps you lot could kip over to Ul’dah - since you’re attuned - and purchase us a little Heavensturn trinket each?” Oyuun asked.

“Aye, we can be doin’ so,” Momolk said, nodding. “We’ve the gil for’t, anyway.”

“Well it can’t be anything too large,” Xomni’to noted. “It has to fit on our person - we’ll not be bringing back a cart full of gifts or the like.”

“A trinket, nothing more,” Idertuuya replied. “Something small. I’m sure you three have seen a thing like so?”

“Ahh, I’ve the thing for ye,” Baatar muttered, nodding to herself. “Right then! Ye lot can be gettin’ back t’celebratin’, and we’ll do the linin’ up for ye.”

“Well said, well said,” Caroline replied, patting Baatar on the shoulder. “We’ll be up at Baderon’s when you come back - we’ll have drink and food waiting for you!”

Baatar, Xomni’to and Momolk took their place at the front of the quickly-growing line, chatting amongst themselves in anticipation; soon enough it was nine o’clock, and the artisans - who had been busy setting up temporary gates and queues, let the trio up to the aetheryte.

The chief artisan smiled at them as they attuned to the aetheryte, and gestured at the sky. “Have you three ever done a cross-realm teleport?”

“No,” Xomni’to replied. “Before the Calamity the farthest we’d ever gone was to Moraby, I think.”

“Well, it’s more or less the same,” the Elezen replied. “Let the aetheryte’s aether and yours link, pour a bit of anima into the connection and feel for the Ul’dahn aetheryte - and you should be good to go! Just keep in mind that feelings of dizziness, discomfort and in some causes, nausea, might happen with a long-distance jump. It’ll pass quickly, though. Ready?”

Baatar grinned, stuck out her hand again and felt around the long, sprawling network of aetheryte which lay within the depths of the aetherial sea - and was pulled along through it, and endless ocean of white and blue and-

 _ **Hear. Feel. Think.**_

\- was dumped onto a hard, stone surface, her vision blurry and her head aching. Two more thuds next to her indicated the arrival of Xomni’to and Momolk; the three of them got to their feet and looked up to find themselves in the Ul’dah Aetheryte Plaza, faced with a crowd of onlookers who began cheering and shouting in delight as more and more people began teleporting into the cave.

“ALRIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH,” a lalafellin attendant shouted. “CLEAR THE WAY, YOU LOT! First day of aetheryte teleports - I don’t want to be cleaning up your bodies because one of you decided to lollygag in there!”

“Come on, then,” Momolk shouted, pulling her siblings along. “We’ve Miss Momodi to see!”

“I thoughts we were buyin’ trinkets?” Baatar asked as they left the plaza and began walking down the streets towards the Quicksand.

“Ahh, come on, what, since when will you’s be turnin’ down a drink, eh?” Momolk asked.

“Aye - but jus’ the one! I don’t want mums to be gettin’ all pissed-like ‘cause none of yous stopped me from gettin’ into the drink again!”

* * *

  
 **23RD SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 4 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Ul'dah**

 

“Now calling number twenty-six!”

Momolk clutched at her papers and walked up to the exquisitely-decorated gold-trimmed desk, behind which sat an impeccably dressed lalafellin man who looked to be at the least in his late forties. She curtsied as best she could, and put on her best rendition of a cleaner Lominsan accent.

“Greetings to ye,” Momolk said. “I’ll be Momolk Molkoh-”

“-of the Molkoh and Kha soap brand?” the man behind the counter sputtered.

The entire waiting room fell silent and all eyes fell on her.

 _Good, you shites. All yous listen real close-like now_. “Yes, that is I. I come today bearing the recipe to the soaps I sell, and I desired an audience with Ul’dah’s finest, since I’ll be wantin’ to part ways with the rights to it.”

A quick glance behind her.

Two lalafellin merchants who had been waiting in line behind her immediately took off like their coinpurses had run for the hills, their parchment number-stubs fluttering to the ground where they’d once stood.

“A-ah, yes, of course. Her Majesty is currently in a discussion with her ministers and the Syndicate regarding an unrelated matter, but otherwise Her Majesty’s schedule has not been defined for the day!” the man said, his earlier excitement held behind a practiced veneer of refined restraint. “I shall set you immediately ahead - please, move to the inspection room, and the Sultanate shall see that your audience is gained forthwith,” 

“Thanks t’ye. I’ll do so at once.” Momolk followed the attendant’s gesture towards a large set of double-doors guarded by a pair of thickly-armoured Sultanwsworn; both guards patted her down and searched through her satchel until they were satisfied.

“Go on in, milady,” the older of the guards said with a curt bow as he opened the doors.

Past the door lay a short tunnel, in which stood another dozen guards; Momolk entered, flinching only slightly as the doors slammed shut behind her, and she walked to the end of the hall where another Sultanworn - this one a short, grey-haired hyuran man.

“Miss Momolk Molkoh,” the man said gravely. “You will be entering the audience chambers shortly, and in doing so you shall conduct yourself with the gravity and respect owed to Her Majesty as well as her assistants. Is that clear?”

“It is, Ser Sultansworn.”

“Good. The rules are simple: you will make no sudden movements. You will not approach the throne or Table of Rule by more than ten paces unless you have been given explicit permission by the Sultana or any of her guards. Understand?”

“I do,” Momolk replied stiffly.

“Good.”

Momolk stood in silence for another half-bell when the silence within the waiting-hall broke; a small bell in the corner of the doorway began ringing, and the guards pulled the doors open with a flourish. Beyond stood an opulent room, at the centre of which was a golden table which sat seven individuals - the six members of the Syndicate, the Sultana’s closest advisors - as well as a seventh hyuran man. Without question, though, the centerpiece of the room was the throne where a regally dressed lalafellin woman with strawberry-blonde hair sat in poised silence. A pair of plate-armoured Sultansworn guards armed with massive swords and heavier shields stood watch in every corner of the room, and Momolk felt their gaze bore into her.

“PRESENTING! MISS MOMOLK MOLKOH, OF LIMSA LOMINSA, PROPRIETOR OF THE MOLKOH AND KHA COMPANY,” one of the guards shouted.

 _If they do that for just any sod, I’ll eat my quill_. With that thought, Momolk stepped forward, doing her best to keep the calm she was feeling now flowing through her veins; she stopped at the bottom of the stairs before the table and curtsied in the most proper way possible, and cleared her throat to speak in the best Ul’dahn accent she could produce.

“Dearest members of the Ul’dahn Syndicate, and most esteemed Lad- sorry, Her Majesty Nanamo Ul Namo,” Momolk said, a small, thin smile on her lips as she met Nanamo’s bemused gaze, “I come to you this day bearing the recipe for the soaps of the company I jointly own, Momolk and Kha.”

“Ahh, yes,” Nanamo said, eyes sparkling with amusement, meeting Momolk’s as the others in the room gazed at the new arrival. “Now, it is my understanding that your company has - at least up until recently - been importing said soaps from the Old Sharlayan continent. Is this the case?”

“It is, your majesty.” Momolk bowed her head, angling it so that it went past the point of polite and ever so slightly into the territory of overeager.

“Mmm. I see. Now, I have had the pleasure to use Sharlayan scented-soaps many times in my life, both before and after the Calamity. At all times, though,” Nanamo tapped her fingers together thoughtfully, “there was difficulty in importing the goods. After all, though Sharlayan may not be as far away as storied Kugane or the dread realms of Garlemald, travel there by boat is no mean feat. You claim to have reverse-engineered this recipe by way of your alchemical sciences?”

“I do, yes,” Momolk replied with another appropriately hasty nod. “In actual fact, the previous batch of Molkoh and Kha soap bars brought to Ul’dah late last year had several test batches of bars made by our own company; despite rigorous testing by the merchants we sell to and numerous questionings of people who used the bars, we could find no difference between the original Sharlayan goods and our own products.”

The hyuran man who was sitting to the left side of the Syndicate table raised his hand, and Nanamo nodded serenely at him.

“Go ahead, Master Emerson,” Nanamo said.

“Thank you, your Majesty. Ah, Miss Momolk, I am Theodore Emerson, and I work for the Divan of Commerce,” the man said coolly. “Now, while I have no intention of calling you a liar or a cheat, you must understand that a feat such as reverse-engineering the recipe for Sharlayan soap is no small accomplishment. The Alchemists’ Guild has, in fact, been attempting to discern the methods of its manufacture for more than five decades, and has been unable to manage as such despite their best efforts.”

“I assure you, Master Emerson,” Momolk responded with a placating gesture, “I would not dare to come before Her Majesty and her most esteemed advisors with the intention of hoodwinking them. I may merely be a Lominsan sailor with a love of experimenting, but is it so hard to believe that the solution may have been a simple one that nobody thought of?”

“Well, yes,” Theodore replied, frowning. “I would not ask you to hand over your recipe in its entirety - that is, by right, yours to sell. But neither would I have a charlatan make a mockery of Ul’dahn law.”

“Of course. I understand,” Momolk noted, carefully and slowly drawing a sheaf of parchment from her tunic. “May I approach the throne to pass this along to Master Emerson?”

“You may,” Nanamo said.

“Thank you.” Momolk walked ascended the steps and handed Theodore the papers, then returned to her seat; the man spent a few minutes reading the papers, his eyes widening and his expression growing increasingly surprised as he read. At long last he stood up and bowed slightly, shaking his head.

“Twelve, Miss Molkoh, I apologize if I have caused any offence to you whatsoever,” Theodore said in disbelief. “Your Majesty, honoured members of the Syndicate, this is the genuine article indeed. Miss Molkoh and her associates have indeed - at least, I am all but certain that they have - worked the methods out. She was correct in stating that the answer was beneath our noses all this time. I will not bore you with the details of soap-craft-”

“-please,” the massive, dark-skinned Highlander Hyur at the table groaned, “do no such thing-”

“-but this is it. This is a recipe that would, if followed, produce a bar of soap as fine as any from Old Sharlayan.”

“This is so,” Momolk added, “but as you yourself noted, Master Emerson, that is not the complete recipe.”

“Oh?” asked one of the Syndicate - a white-haired, visor-clad lalafellin man with a thick, perfectly-trimmed mustachio. “That is quite the achievement, Miss Molkoh. I must applaud your efforts, for they appear to have paid off most richly.”

“Thank you, good sir, but I am not finished my presentation,” Momolk replied respectfully. “As Master Emerson noted, it would be foolish of me to produce the complete recipe without seeking some sort of remittance. So it is, then, that the incomplete recipe Master Emerson examined would allow a single worker make a bar of soap over the course of nearly an entire day; then, said bar would have to be cured for roughly two moons, lest it be too soft for shipping and handling.”

“A fine tradeoff, I would think,” said Teledji Adeledji - who Momolk recognized from his dealings with the the Kweh’s crew. “A bit of time in exchange for a fine-smelling bar of soap? It seems fair.”

“Ah, yes, but the complete recipe,” Momolk added with glee, “requires only a single bell - less, if done by skilled hands - to finish the bar, and only a moon and two weeks to cure it.”

The members of the Syndicate - save for the dark-skinned man from before - all perked up.

“That really is quite something,” Teledji said slowly, only a single of his fingers trembling ever so slightly while the rest stayed tightly clenched to his seat. “An incredible feat.”

“Indeed,” the visored lalafell said. “Miss Momolk - can I call you that? - I believe I’d like to begin the bidding at-”

“- _biddin’_? Pardon me askin’, good sir,” Momolk replied, a smarmy grin stretching across her face and her thick Lominsan accent slipping back into her voice with ease, “who’s to be sayin’ there’ll be any biddin’ for the thing? Did I says that? I don’t recalls I says that,” Momolk continued, doing her best not to burst into laughter at the way that both Teledji and the visored man seemed to freeze up, as though a basilisk had managed to slither into their pants.

“N-Now hold on a minute, m-my fair lady,” Teledji fumbled hastily, scratching at his beard with visible tension, “I had heard - on good authority, I might add - that an auction was to take place for your most, most prodigious discovery.”

“Auction?” Momolk whipped her hand to her mouth with a gasp that only a fool would think was fake. “First anyone's told me ‘bout such a thing! Looks here, goodly sir, people ‘round the whole realm smell like swine dung, if you’ll excuse me language, yer Majesty,” she curtsied at the Sultana, who was hiding her smile behind her hand. “And frankly I’ll be sick’ve it. A clean man should smell clean, if I does say so meself. So, pray tell, why would I be riskin’ this recipe, this... this godssend, really, to fall to the hands of a soul who’d be chargin’ firstborns for the stuff?”

Teledjii’s face took on a tone that would have been healthier on a fishback, and the visored man only just managed to strangle an expletive into garbled nothingness.

One of the Hyur - this one lighter-skinned than the other and wearing a set of circular glasses, a white blazer and black dress-shorts - on the Syndicate roared in laughter, slapping the table on a well-worn, handprint-dent-shaped spot with glee. “Ha! Oh, gods, the two of you - the looks on your faces - you’ve been had, you curs!”

“That is enough,” Nanamo interjected with a wave of her hand - one of which, Momolk noted, was still positioned to cover her mouth. “Lord Manderville, you will cease your antagonizing of Lord Lolorito Nanarito and Lord Teledji Adeledji.”

“Pff - apologies, your Majesty,” Godbert Manderville snorted as he clamped a hand over his grin. “I’ll restrain myself at once.”

“As I was sayin’,” Momolk continued, by now sporting her own smirk. “I’ve no desire to be smellin’ folk who’ll have the odours of a Gridanian dung-pit when, instead, they could be smellin’ fine as a sprig’a mint, they could. So! I comes here today, your Majesty, to offer the sale of the Momolk and Kha recipe-”

Teledjii slumped bonelessly in his chair, and the visored man was gnawing furiously at his thumb as he subtly cast glares around the table.

“-to the Sultanate of Ul’dah.”

Nanamo made a fine point of ignoring the mirrored howls of ‘WHAT!?’ that erupted from the sputtering figures of Lolorito and Teledji, and nodded sagely. “I must thank you for your kindness and your offer, Miss Molkoh. What would you have the Sultanate pay you and your company for the rights to your recipe?”

“Ehe, not much, yer Majesty,” Momolk replied with a lackadaisical wave of her hand. “Truths be told, we’d not spent much on th’experimentin’, and the bars of our own make we done sold paid for our land and the like. So...five hundred thousand gil, I’d say, would be a fair thing. Oh, and royalties, aye, I’d be wantin’ those - let’s say… five percent of the profits?”

“Yes. Those terms are most certainly agreeable,” Nanamo concurred with an ill-concealed smile. “You are sure, Miss Molkoh, that you would be willing to part with your recipe for so little?”

“Ha! Five percent’s no small thing,” Momolk scoffed, “not with every sod with two gil to rub together that rightly won’t wanna be smellin’ like a pisspot no more hankerin’ to buy yer soaps.”

“Fair enough. Then, by the powers invested within me, I, Nanamo ul Namo, Seventeenth in the Ul Line, Sultana of Ul’dah, royally decree that you, Miss Momolk Molkoh, shall be paid a sum of five hundred thousand gil for the sale of your scented soap recipe to the Sultanate of Ul’dah, in addition to a five-percent share of all profits obtained in the sale of said soaps. I do declare this to be true and binding, as those present and the Twelve witness me. You may drop your parchment off with the Sultansworn guards in the waiting-hall; they will take care of it.”

“Oh, and do ye think ye could be tossin’ in one of those fine-looking pastries there too?” The Lominsan casually - and slowly, she hadn’t forgotten about the Sultansworn and their gleaming swords - gestured at the table. “They look mighty tasty, they do.”

Teledji flinched and turned, mouth open when Lolorito cleared his throat - snarled, almost - and glared at Teledji; Teledji shut his mouth with an audible snap and stared off at the wall opposite him, his expression furious.

“Of course,” Lolorito said with a thin smile. “You can have your pick - personally I quite like the jelly rolls.”

“Well then,” Momolk said cheerfully, approaching the table and taking a roll from Lolorito’s proffered hand, “thanks t’ye.” She returned to the floor, curtsied deeply and grinned at all present. “If that’ll be all, then, your Majesty, esteemed Syndicate, Master Emerson, I’ll be takin’ my leave.”

“Of course. Fare you well, Miss Molkoh,” Nanamo said as both hyurs at the table did their best not to laugh.

“Of course, yer Majesty!” Momolk waved over her shoulder as she walked out. “Thanks for the sweets! Ah!” She paused and snapped her fingers like it’d just occurred to her. “An’ fer the small fortune, o’ course.”

“Of course,” Nanamo concurred innocently.

And that was all they could take.

The dark-skinned Highlander - who Momolk recalled now was none other than the Flame General himself, Raubahn Aldynn - better known as the Bull of Ala Mhigo and proprietor of the Bloodsands, roared with laughter as he hammered the table with his fist, while Godbert Manderville, President of Manderville & Manderville Enterprises - as indicated by the logo emblazoned upon his tight-fitting blazer - leapt to his feet and applauded with gusto and a few sparse cries of encore.

  


* * *

  
Later that evening, Teledji Adeledji - flanked by his usual pair of roegadyn bodyguards - made his nightly journey from his mansion to the casino-hotel that was his pride and joy, the Platinum Mirage, and wove his way through gamblers and partiers alike as he made his way to the VIP lounge, which overlooked the lower two floors of the casino itself. Poposiwe Ririsiwe, the old, white-haired bartender he’d hired back when he was but a mere trader-of-goods looking to open a small gambling hall, waved him over.

“Lord Adeledji,” Poposiwe said with a slight nod, straightening his green blazer and white dress shirt. “It is, as always, a pleasure to see you.”

“You see me every day, Po,” Teledji muttered, flopping into one of the armchairs in front of the lalafell-sized bartop. “You don’t need to be so formal.”

“My apologies, milord,” Poposiwe replied, frowning. “Shall you be taking the usual?”

“Something stronger today, please,” Teledji said as his bodyguards left him to stand watch at the VIP section’s entrance. “Whiskey, perhaps.”

“Ah, certainly, milord. I have a most excellent, unopened bottle - Ojiche & Blacksmith Distillery, 1520, Sixth Astral vintage,” Poposiwe noted. “Would that be acceptable?”

“More than.”

“Wonderful. I shall fetch it at once.”

Teledji ground his teeth as his loyal bartender disappeared through a door behind the bar and stared down at the patrons carousing on the floors below, wanting nothing more than to throw bricks at them. It would solve nothing, but at the very least the mayhem would draw his mind away from matters at hand.

Soon enough, Poposiwe’s return through the doors removed Teledji from stewing any further in his simmering anger; the older man glode over to him with a whiskey glass, inside which a crystal-clear sphere of ice sat, as well as a small bottle bearing the logo and casking-year of the O&B distillery.

“Your whiskey, milord.”

“Thank you,” Teledji said as Poposiwe poured him a small measure.

“If you require anything else, milord, you need but ask,” Poposiwe said with a small bow.

Teledji returned to his people-watching, letting the bite and burn of his very,  _very_  expensive drink take the day’s frustrations out of mind; he watched the ice and the drink and his glass, letting the alcohol soothe his troubled mind.

“You,” came a most unwelcome voice from behind him, “must be the saddest man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Teledji craned around the back of his seat and saw the white-haired, visor-clad lalafell standing behind him.

“Lolorito,” Teledji hissed. “Can a man not enjoy a drink in some Twelves-damned peace for once in his life?”

“Well, I figured that I might want a drink - and to, ah, discuss some frustrations of my own, ones I presumed you might share,” Lolorito replied with a smirk and a shrug. “And what do I find but Teledji Adeldji, sixth of the Syndicate, trying to drown his sorrows in a seventy-four year-old vintage. Gods, how much did that even cost you?”

“On any other day I’d have you run out of my establishment,” Teledji hissed, returning to his drink and pointedly not looking at the newcomer. “No one’s allowed in the VIP lounge without a purchase.”

“That’s not a rule,” Lolorito said with some amusement.

“It damn well is now.”

“Ah, well, my mistake. I’ll return shortly, then.” Lolorito sauntered over to the bar and flashed a winning smile at the bartender. “Poposiwe, my good sir, how do you fare this fine evening?”

“Excellent as always, Lord Nanarito,” Poposiwe replied stiffly. “May I fetch you a drink?”

“I would appreciate it. An Ishgardian Seventy-Five, if you please.”

“Very well. Have you any preference of gin or champagne?”

“Yes. Kendrick’s for the gin - you will find it on the third shelf behind you, on the left side - and if you’ve a bottle of Bacchus White, I would like that as well.”

“Ah...I’m afraid our stocks of Bacchus - white or red - are quite low,” Poposiwe said quietly. “Most bottles - and vines - were lost in the Calamity. The price, I’m afraid, will be... quite...” the bartender trailed off into fearful silence as the Syndicate chairman’s mood darkened visibly.

“Get the Bacchus White,” he intoned gravely. “And then leave us.”

“I….yes.” The bartender and proprietor both twitched imperceptibly before the prior strode off with no small amount of haste; the bartender returned shortly with a chilled bottle of champagne, and set to work mixing gin, champagne, lemon juice and sugared syrup in an ice-cube filled flute-glass.

“Now, I do have a question,” Lolorito asked politely. “I do see that this establishment’s fine proprietor has for himself a bottle of Ojiche & Blacksmith, of 1520. Might I ask how much that was purchased for?”

“Ah...two hundred thousand gil, I believe,” Poposiwe replied with a fearful glance to the side, his unease only multiplying as he beheld his employer’s deepening scowl.

“I see,” Lolorito said with a shrug. He pulled a piece of parchment out of his coat, then a custom-made pen, and scribbled on it before passing it over to the bartender. “Here you go. You can redeem this at any of my banking establishments for a sum of a thousand gil. I trust that covers the cost of the drink and my privacy?”

Poposiwe glanced nervously at Lolorito, then at the parchment, then at the back of Teledji’s chair.

“It’s fine. Take it and take the rest of the night off, Po,” Teledji growled.

“Of course, milord. Thank you, milord,” Poposiwe said, collecting the parchment before handing Lolorito his drink and scurrying away.

“Bad enough,” Teledji hissed as Lolorito sat down next to him, “that you waltz in here and insult me. Then you have the stones to bribe my bartender?”

“Bribe?” Lolorito scoffed. “I paid him for a drink and some quiet time. If that passes as bribery, then I’ve nothing pleasant to say to you, Teledji.” He sighed, drank from his flute-glass and smiled. “A pleasant drink to take the edge off an unpleasant day, I would say.”

“Unpleasant - are you  _mad_?” Teledji snapped. “Do you have any idea how close to ruin my business, your business, and many more besides came to in pursuit of this false auction rumour?”

“Oh, calm down,” Lolorito said with a wave of his hand. “You and I, at the very least, are doing just fine. Unless my sources are wrong you still have no shortage of operations that will replenish your coffers, and there’s still the gil you and I had tucked away for the bidding itself.”

“And I suppose - I cannot - you idiot!” Teledji shouted, setting his glass down. “Thal’s balls, do you have any idea what I had to do to get that bid-gil? I’ve liquefied far more assets than I would normally have. Ruined relations and trade partners that I’ve been cultivating for years, nay, decades! I’ve run scores of lesser men into the dirt with the promise that they’d be saved by my purchase.”

“Oh, come off it. You make it sound like you were the only one to lose things through this endeavour,” Lolorito replied with a snort. “I spent a fair bit on this too - not to mention losing no small amount of coin covering your dirty tracks, cleaning up after your messes. You want to know why you’re at the bottom of the Syndicate, Teledji? It’s because you have no finesse. Your supporters are not loyal. They’re bought, you idiot.” He shrugged, took another sip of his cocktail. “We might be enemies in the realm of economies, but it’s bad business all around for a Syndicate member to lose his seat in sudden fashion,” Lolorito said quietly. “You would do well to watch yourself, and perhaps reconsider your tactics - considering, especially, that some sailor-woman from the grimy docks of Limsa Lominsa got you to cut your own pursestrings.”

“Cut my - well, we shall see about that,” Teledji growled, glaring at Lolorito. “She’ll not be leaving Ul’dah this night - why, I doubt she’ll even make it to the aetheryte tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” Lolorito asked, his expression one of innocent confusion. “Oh! Yes, I remember - you sent a man to the Alacran? Something about making a request for a woman of Lominsan birth disappear into the night? Well, I’m afraid your messenger won’t be delivering that letter of yours,” Lolorito said cheerfully, pulling a bag of coin from his coat. He tossed it onto Teledji’s lap and sniggered at the man’s dumbfounded expression. “Shame. I hope you weren’t attached to the man - I think the antlings will be finishing up their snack right about now.”

“You little shit,” Teledji shouted, getting to his feet. “You think you can raise a hand against me like this and expect to get out clean?”

“Oh, sit down. There’s no need for you to play the actor,” Lolorito said, rolling his eyes behind his visor. “I mean, excepting the fact that the Sultansworn would have stopped your plan regardless, I can’t believe you’d put the knife to the throat of some pirate wench because she managed to pull a fast one on you, Teledji. What, are you some coddled babe, who cannot accept his milk taken from him?” Lolorito shook his head. “Gods. Accept your defeat - we were all played, as Godbert noted, and there’s no shame in it if you just move on with whatever dignity we have.”

Teledji sat back down, and chugged the rest of his drink before glaring at the ceiling. “Whose side are you on, Lolorito? I’d almost think you admire the bitch.”

“Wrong, you thick-headed simpleton. I have no admiration for the woman, in the same way I have no admiration for anyone else on the Syndicate or in the Sultanate. I respect the woman. You, on the other hand, spit upon those you see beneath you, ignore them as being unworthy of your time - and then are surprised when a dagger gets rammed into your arsehole.” Lolorito finished his drink, and set it down, swirling the ice within around.

“And who says I should respect-”

“-enough,” Lolorito said, his voice caustic enough to kill a man.

Teledji stopped.

He’d only heard Lolorito use that tone of voice thrice in his life, and when it was used, even the Sultana stopped to listen.

“The matter, my friend, is closed. We lost coin, assets and pull. The Monetarists of the Syndicate, now, should - must - regroup from this, if we are to counter the now-rising power of the Royalists; with a nigh-perfect revenue stream and an incredible public relations victory, the Royalists have ensured that our work is cut out for us. So let us get to work, instead of scurrying around in the sewers like a bunch of lowly brigands,” Lolorito said calmly. “Or, perhaps...you forget the time you set your bribed Brass Blades against me?”

Teledji said nothing and did his best not to touch the spot on the back of his neck where, a decade ago, the men he’d thought loyal to him had placed the points of their swords.

“Well, I must say, the Calamity and its aftermath must no doubt have scrambled your memory. So, a reminder: The polity of Ul’dah is a boardgame. Its tokens are coin and favours, not daggers and poison, ” Lolorito explained coolly. “The first man who draws his dagger at the gambling table is the one who is hung to make an example. Forget that again, and I will have your Mirage Trust burnt to the gods-damned ground before the sun goes down. You understand. You, do, don’t you?”

Teledji could not see the eyes behind Lolorito’s leather visor, but he could feel the icy stare he’d never forget boring into him.

“I...I do,” Teledji ground out through clenched teeth.

“Wonderful,” Lolorito said cheerfully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have damn near two years’ worth of poor choices to fix. Have yourself a wonderful evening, and - please - do send my compliments to old Poposiwe.” He got up, bowed slightly, and made his way out of the lounge.

Teledji watched him go as he refilled his glass.

“Coins and favours. Daggers and poison. Hmph. We shall see,” Teledji hissed.

* * *

 

 **24TH SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 4 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Ul'dah**

 

Momolk sighed as Momodi brought her her breakfast, and the older woman shot a frown at her.

“Now what’s all this sighing about, Miss Momolk?” Momodi asked, tossing a small pile of sugar packets at Momolk’s tray. “Your deal’s good and done, you’ve got your royalties checked and your bank account made. What’s the trouble?”

“Ahh, a right shame, ‘tis,” Momolk replied with a dreamy expression, absentmindedly mixing milk into her coffee until it was more milk than coffee. “A right good scheme that were, but...but now, it’ll be over. The gil’s good - more than, really - but there’s somethin’ ‘bout the schemin’ that makes me feel warm inside.”

“Nald’Thal and the Eleven besides,” Momodi snorted. “Why do you even bother denying it? You, miss, are a born-and-bred Ul’dahn if I’ve ever seen one. Really. You might as well just move here, now that the aetheryte’s fixed.”

“Ahhh, no, I’s a Lominsan at heart, I am. There’s….how to put it. There’s no fun in always doin’ schemin’, since then it’ll lose th’excitement. Ye spread it out, break in between...that-a-way you make the feelin’ extra goodly,” Momolk explained.

Momodi shook her head in disbelief. “You, Miss Momolk, are a scary woman indeed. Plenty of folk I’ve met who’ll like the plotting and such for the benefit. You might be the first I’ve spoken with for whom the scheming is the goal.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” came Lilira’s voice from behind, sweeping Momolk off the chair into a tight embrace. “Twelve above, might I simply say that you put on a most grand performance the sun prior!”

Momolk squealed slightly until she was set down - and then she did realize that she was, indeed, looking at, speaking to Lilira, not Nanamo. It was subtle, yes, but different enough that one would ignore the similarities between the two for fear of ridicule. Lilira was slightly hunched and tucked in upon herself, like an overworked secretary; Nanamo was regal, ramrod-straight in posture and regally confident. Lilira’s voice was higher-pitched, excitable, pleased-as-punch; Nanamo’s was lower, almost motherly in its intonation.

So it was, then, that Momolk decided she would not speak to Nanamo this morning.

“Lady Lilira,” Momolk said with a fine curtsey, “what excellent timing. I suppose my meeting with the Sultana last sun has been spoken of throughout the Sultanate?”

“Oho, yes it has, Miss Momolk,” Lilira said, clambering onto the stool next to Momolk’s. “Let met say: the Sultana’s laughter could be heard all the way through the Palace that evening, and her closest advisors - the Flame General more specifically - shared that good cheer throughout the day. And lest you believe that it was only the highest of the Sultanate whose spirits were raised - know that the phrase, ‘like Lord Adeledji being told of his soaps’ has already taken root.” Lilira sniggered to herself for a moment, then cleared her throat. “I have also heard - rumours, of course - that there are ruder sayings out there, but I shall let those make their way into the public’s use, so that they remain a surprise for you.”

“Shame,” Momolk said, getting back onto her seat and tearing open a half-dozen sugar packets at once. “I’ll say, though, watchin’ those two Syndicate shitebags piss theyselves...that were somethin’ I’ll be happy ‘bout fer many a year.”

“And the same for me, I must say,” Lilira replied, sighing in content. “Let me say, Miss Momolk, that day might indeed be the happiest one I have had for-”

Momolk watched as Lilira’s face contorted, sped through a whirlwind of emotions: sorrow, joy, longing, acceptance.

“-gods,” Lilira said at last, tears beginning to stream down her smiling face. “I...I think that might very well be the happiest day I can recall. How amusing is that?”

“Uh, uh, please, gods, Lili, it’s fine,” Momolk said, patting her on the back and trying to sound soothing. “Please don - pl - don’t cry!”

“No, no, I’m not - it’s okay,” Lilira half-sobbed, half-laughed as she wiped her face with her sleves. “Oh, gods, I just - I don’t know,” Lilira managed to choke out.

“Uhhh….everything alright?” Momodi asked nervously. “Lady Lilira, if something’s the matter-”

“-no, everything - yes, I’m quite alright,” Lilira replied after another minute. “I...I am alright. Just...just very happy to have met you, Miss Momolk.” She held back a sniffle, a wide, deep smile spreading across her face. “Ahh, it is just that since the Calamity - and even before - good memories like these have been sparse. I think I shall cherish the previous day quite dearly.”

“Well if that’s not askin’ fer me to be comin’ up with some more schemes that’ll put a smile on yer face,” Momolk said reassuringly, “then I don’t know what’ll be so.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lilira said gleefully, any traces of her negative emotions swiftly dispelling as she clapped her hands. “Now of course a woman of my stature could not possibly endorse a Lominsan sowing chaos in our midst, but I suppose so long as the madness amounts to nothing more than hurt pride - well who am I to say who’s pride is worth what?”

“Well if it’s you who’s sayin’ so, well, that’ll be a free ticket to be doin’ as a I please, eh?” Momolk said.

“Who? Me?” Lilira said, gesturing at herself. “No. I am merely a noblewoman in the employ of the Sultanate. Now, if it were someone higher up giving you the permission, I believe that would be a different story.” Lilira sighed, taking one of Momolk’s pastries and picking away daintily at it until it was no more than crumbs, then brushed her hands off on the napkin Momolk offered her. “I am afraid my time here today is limited - but, with the aetheryte repaired, I imagine you shall be returning to Ul’dah regularly, yes?”

“Aye,” Momolk replied. “Gil’s no trouble - and so if I’ve a free day, I’ll do the thing.”

“Good,” Nanamo replied. “I expect such from you, you understand?”

“I do,” Momolk answered with a nod.

“Wonderful.” Lilira clapped Momolk on the shoulder, embraced her again and patted her hand. “I must be off - duty calls - you understand. But please: do return to Ul’dah as soon as you can - and, if you can, make it a longer stay. I would love to spend some proper time together, please. Farewell!”

“I’ll do so. ‘Til then,” Momolk shouted as Lilira left.

Momolk watched Lilira leave with a half-smile on her lips, then returned to her breakfast.

“You made Lilira cry,” Momodi muttered a few minutes later.

“I did, aye,” Momolk replied softly. “That...that were a strange thing, it was. Now why’s a happy thing gone’n made her cry?”

Momodi said nothing, and so neither did Momolk.

 

* * *

  


 **10TH SUN OF THE FOURTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 4 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Isles of Val, Sharlayan**

 

 

“Gods. The sun shinin’, not like las’ time we were ‘ere, an’ it still looks like the boringest pile’a shite y’ever laid eyes upon,” Baatar spat as the  _Bigger Kweh_  pulled into port. “Why’s anyone wants to be livin’ in Sharlayan, anyhow? Why’s not study where there’ll be a nice, big list’a places ye can be eatin’ or drinkin’ or however you wants it?”

“Well, for some people,” Xomni’to explained, “a diet of water and porridge is good enough. Food, as it turns out, actually doesn’t matter all that much for some.”

“A fuckin’ waste, I think,” Baatar replied with a scowl. “Y’spends how many bells a day sleepin’, and y’has to eat. Two things ye might as well be payin’ attention to - yer sleepin’ arrangements, and what ye put into yer stomach.”

Baatar continued to make her thoughts on the matter even as the ship docked and the crew began unloading the cargo - much to the chagrin of her fellow crew - and was about to continue into a fresh diatribe about her thoughts on Sharlayan policy when Arnar clamped a hand over her mouth as they walked towards the same dormitory they’d stayed in the last time.

“Gods, we get it, ye don’t like Sharlayan much,” Arnar shouted. “Twelve! Ye don’t have to be sayin’ so every minute!”

“‘Tis a free country, Sharlayan is,” Baatar replied, batting his hand away. “A woman can be sayin’ what she likes!”

“Aye, an’ the Forum’s free to be throwin’ yer arse back on the boat if ye keep badmouthin’ them. Shut it!” Arnar hissed.

“Fine, fine, I’ll keep me thoughts to meself. Fer now, anyhows.”

Besides being happily reacquainted with the bathhouse, Baatar spent the rest of the sun generally being miserable, her mood only getting worse upon learning that Oswin’s tavern only had enough ale to serve two tankards to each sailor on the Kweh, lest he dip into his emergency stocks. So it was that, after several rounds of cards and dice, Baatar and the others retired to their beds; they woke up the next morning to a proper, sunny day which was, at least for the season, quite warm. Baatar and the others sat outside on the porch of the dormitory, watching scholars and students walk up the long avenue to the Studium at the end of the road, chatting amongst themselves when two nearly identical, white-haired Elezen girls- Baatar estimated that they couldn’t possibly be older than fifteen - approached the group. Both were clad in simple robes; one of them blue, the other a dull pink.

“Ahem, uh, hello there,” the first said bowing slightly. “Would you goodly sailors perchance be the Lominsan sailors whose fine ship lays in port?”

“Aye,” Arnar replied, getting to his feet. “That’ll be us, it will. What’s yer business, youngling?”

“Ah, yes. I am Alphinaud Leveilleur, and this is my sister, Alisae.”

“Yer a man?” Baatar sputtered.

“I - excuse me?” Alphinaud sputtered, his face flushing a deep red. “I - yes, I am a man, thank you very much!”

Baatar snorted. “Ye don’t look’t.”

“I - well - no, I am not going to dignify such insults with an answer. I simply wished to say that, the sun prior, my sister and I secured passage to Limsa Lominsa after a discussion with your Captain,” Alphinaud managed to say. “I merely wished to confirm the matter as, from my experience, it is best to ensure that all parties are ‘in the know,’ so to speak.”

“Well, ye’ve informed us, Master Leveilleur,” Arnar replied with a nod. “If the clime’s right, I believe we’ll be leavin’ this evenin’ - yer aware?”

“I am, good sir,” Alphinaud noted. “I intend to finish up a few errands, as well as one last experiment on the testing ranges before heading home to pack my bags.”

“Same,” Alisae said flatly.

“Well, a’right then. No rush - though, if ye don’t mind me askin’, what’s this ‘bout a testin’ range, eh?” Striped Lily asked.

“Well, there’s a long, otherwise-unused stretch of coastline off to the east,” Alphinaud said, pointing off in the direction of Oswin’s tavern, “that’s used for ballistics, trajectory and gunnery testing.”

“I thoughts ye lot were a peaceful bunch,” T’thoruma muttered.

“Well, yes,” Alphinaud answered hastily, “but even in peace there are uses for calculating such things.”

“Uh….can we be usin’ the thing?” Baatar asked. “Be a right pleasure to be shootin’ guns, ‘stead o’ sittin’ ‘ere all sun.”

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Alphinaud replied after a moment’s consideration. “It’s not a restricted area like the Studium, and there’s really nothing there besides some old cannons and whatnot that nobody uses.”

“Hehe, well looks here, we got ourselves a right fun afternoon, we does!” Baatar shouted; the other sailors agreed heartily.

“In any case, I shall guide you there - I was on my way.”

“Have fun, brother,” Alisae muttered as she took off towards the Studium.

Alphinaud sighed and rubbed at his brow as he watched his sister saunter off; shaking his head, he turned back to the sailors. “I see you lot have your firearms with you,” he said, nodding at the pistols and sawn-off shot-guns hanging at the belts of the sailors, “but you’ll have to supply your own shot and powder as well.”

“That’ll be no trouble - I’ll fetch a crate,” Arnar said, getting to his feet.

Baatar and the others followed Alphinaud while Arnar and Striped Lily set off to fetch some powder and shot from the Bigger Kweh; after ten minutes of walking they arrived at a long, rectangular building which faced the coast. Alphinaud fished out a set of keys from his tunic and unlocked the door; a small hallway separated the building’s sparsely-furnished halls and a long gunnery range which overlooked the waters below the cliff face. Several old, rusted cannons sat in ancient-looking gun pits, and Alphinaud turned to face the sailors with a flourish.

“And here we are,” he said with a smile. “Not much, true, but here you may fire your guns without worry of sanction or collateral damage, I think.”

“And what will you be doin’, Alphinaud?” Xomni’to asked.

“Well, just some testing with my Carbuncle,” the Elezen boy replied.

“Oh! Yer a practitioner o’ the arcanima? So’s we!” Momolk answered.

Baatar rolled her eyes and set to work ignoring the trio as they began babbling on about magic arrays or something else she cared little for; a few minutes later, Arnar returned with Striped Lily bearing a crate. Soon enough the sailors - minus Xomni’to and Momolk - were happily blasting away at the water, until at last they’d exhausted the crate’s supply of bullets and round-shot.

“Oi,” Ototo said with a scowl, “who’n the hells packed this fuckin’ thing, eh? There’s enough firesand here to be blastin’ a fuckin’ mountain apart, but nary a single shot!”

“Hey, there’ll be no rule ‘bout how the crates’ll be packed,” T’thoruma shot back. “I put what fit, I did.”

“Well there’ll be no sense wastin’ all this powder,” Baatar said, the gears in her head grinding along. “Aha, shite, I’s an idea - let’s be usin’ a cannon!”

Alphinaud perked up and walked over to their group, hands raised in caution. “I, uh, am unsure as to how wise that is. They are very old pieces, and while they’re not valued by any means I cannot guarantee the safety of firing even just powder out of them.”

“Fuckit,” Baatar replied. “Well if nobody’s gonna be wantin’ ‘em, we might as wells be havin’ some fun, eh?”

“I….I see. I, uh, I think I shall take my leave, then,” Alphinaud said nervously, briskly leaving the range with his Carbuncle trotting behind him.

“Do it,” Striped Lily said gleefully. “Put the powder in. _Alls of it_.”

“You know,” Xomni’to said slowly as he and Momolk watched the other sailors - Baatar at the lead - attempting to pour the small pile of firesand left into one of the old cannons, “this strikes me as profoundly dangerous and twice as idiotic.”

“Eh,” Momolk replied with a grin. “There’ll be fun in blowin’ shite up, no?”

“Sure. But if it’s all the same, I think I’ll be standin’ well away. Outside. Far away from the building,” Xomni’to said, taking off at a sprint towards the building’s entrance.

 

* * *

  
“Of course, Captain. Now,” Devoix said, flipping through the book Pfarberk had given him, “I do have some concerns about the shipment of ice crystals - I’m aware you said that you’d have difficulty sourcing more than six pallets, but four pallets was a little less than the Forum was hoping for.”

“Well, uh, I hates to be sayin’ it,” Pfarberk winced, “we tried to be buyin’ more, but the Maelstrom’s reserved a fair bit. Ice-cryst’ll always be in high demand, aye, and we was outbid for the last lot.”

“It’s no trouble, good Captain,” Devoix said with a wave of his hand. “Perhaps...hmm. I’m aware that you’ve no linkpearl of your own, but next time perhaps you could arrange a message to be sent ahead via the Maelstrom? Personally I think it’s not a problem, but there are a few senior scholars who have trouble seeing the reality of things like trading and supplies.”

“Aye - m’apologies. I’ll do me best t’alert y’ove these things ‘forehand,” Pfarberk said, nodding.

“Again, it’s no trouble - you more than came through with everything else, believe me,” Devoix replied cheerfully. “That triple shipment of refined Ul’dahn ores more than makes up for it.”

“Well isn’t that a relief, eh?” Pfarberk noted. “I was-”

Both men flinched as a gout of fire shot out towards the water from a building by the edge of the isle; Pfarberk stared in disbelief as a grey-black blur shot out of the same building’s entrace and lodged itself across the street into the side of a tree.

“Uh.” Devoix got to his feet, pulled a pocket-spyglass from his coat and looked through it. “What in the Twelve - is that a  _cannon_?”

Devoix passed the spyglass to Pfarberk; he took it and looked through. “Aye,” he said slowly. “That’ll be a cannon in that there tree.” He moved the spyglass over to the building which it had torn through - and saw Baatar poking her head out nervously. “Sorry. I’ve a problem with me sailors to be dealin’ with. That buildin’ there - it’ll not be important, no?”

“What? The range? No, not at all,” Devoix said, bewildered. “It was slated for a teardown next moon.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve several arses to be whoopin’.”

* * *

“WELL NOW THAT WE’RE AT SEA, YE FUCKIN’ IDIOTS, LET ME BEGIN BY SAYIN’ THIS - YOU LOT ARE A BUNCH’A MOUTH-BREATHIN’, FISHBACK-FUCKIN’, SHITE-EATIN’, NUTKIN-BRAINED FUCKWITS! WHO THE SHITE LOOKS AT A CANNON AND SAYS, AYE, I’LL BE PUTTIN’ A WHOLE FUCKIN’ CRATE’A POWDER INNIT? ARE YE FUCKING DAFT? AND YOU TWO! XOMNI’TO, MOMOLK, YER NOT INNOCENT NEITHER - YE MADE NO ATTEMPT TO BE STOPPIN-”

Alphinaud sighed as the captain of the Bigger Kweh launched into yet another barrage of screaming fury at his sailors and looked at his bags.

“This,” he said quietly, “was not what I expected when we chartered passage to Limsa Lominsa.”

Alisae said nothing; she did not even bother to look up from the book she was reading.

“-AND YOU, ARNAR, YE MADE NO FUCKIN’ DECISION ‘BOUT THIS? GODS DAMN YOU, MAN, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE KEEPIN’ THE CREW SAFE AND OUTTA TROUBLE, AND YOU GOES ALONG WITH THIS, THIS FUCKHOLE OF A PLAN? WHAT, HAVE NON’VE YE A SINGLE FUCKIN’ SHRED’A COMMON FUCKIN’ SENSE-”

“I mean really,” Alphinaud muttered, wincing as something slammed into the section of deck above him, “I figured that we might be on a ship with some...unsavoury characters, but I didn’t think, you know, this might happen.”

Alisae rolled her eyes and shut her book. “You, dear brother, are the one that led these  _goodly_  sailors to the testing range. Frankly, I’m not sure what else you expected.”

“-SHITE FUCKIN’ PISSPOT WHORESON TOSSERS! ALL OF YE! IF GOOD SER DEVOIX HADN’T BEEN FEELIN’ AWFUL KIND, ALL OF YE - ALL! YE’D BE ON SHARLAYAN STILL, FACIN’ THE WRATH O’ THEIR FORUM, AND THEY’D RIGHTLY FLOG THE LIVIN’ SHITE OUTTA ALL’VE’YE, YE SCUM-SUCKING SHITEBIRDS! HEAR ME, YE FUCKIN’ SWINE! WHEN I’M DONE-”

Alphinaud sighed, stuffed some spare cotton he had in his pack into his ears, and did his best to catch some sleep as the Bigger Kweh began its long, long journey to Limsa Lominsa.

 

* * *

 **15TH SUN OF THE FIFTH ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 4 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

Three in the afternoon tended to be something of a dead zone for the Rising Loaves brewery; the lunch rush was over, and the city-workers who got off early tended to show up around closer to five. So it was that, a few days after the Bigger Kweh had returned home and dropped its fancy-clothed Elezen passengers off, Baatar found herself counting coins, cleaning plates and generally helping out where she could at the Rising Loaves; it was by no means hard work, and though it was relaxing to hang out with her family - extended, with Edward and his younger sister Corliss there as well - she could hardly say it was fulfilling work.

So it was that when a swarthy, red-skinned sailor bristling with pistols and carrying a giant axe burst through the door with a grin on his face, Baatar leapt to her feet.

“Cap’n!” Baatar shouted. “We gots a job?”

“Better than,” Pfarberk said, taking a seat at one of the tables. “Oh! And is that Miss Idree I spy?”

Idertuuya hobbled over, Oyuun behind her and grinned at the newcomer. “Well met! Captain Pfarberk, it has been quite some time! It is so good to have you here. Please, can I fetch you a drink?”

“Ah, Miss Idree, a fine thing indeed - if I could be gettin’ a tankard o’ cold-beer that’d be something,” Pfarberk replied.

“I’ll get it, aunty,” Oyuun said, scurrying off to the bar. “Just you have a seat!”

Baatar and Idertuuya both sat down at the table, and Pfarberk sighed, stretching his massive limbs. “So, then, I’lls get right to’t - the Kweh’s goin’ back to Moraby, she is, for another refit.”

“Oh? Fer what?” Baatar asked.

“We’re gettin’ a combat rigging,” Pfarberk said, eyes wild and full of fire. “Full broadsides. Swivel guns. Boarding hooks. Fire-barrel droppers. The works.”

“You’re...you’re going back to privateering, aren’t you,” Idertuuya said flatly.

“Aye,” Pfarberk replied. “That we are. There’s no more shippin’ for the Kweh - we’s returnin’ to our roots! Kill Garleans, take their shite, haul it back to Limsa fer th’Admiral. Honest work fer honest folk, eh?”

“Oho,  _yessssss_ ,” Baatar shouted. “Hells yes! I’ve been waitin’ fer this! Gods have I longed to kill me a Garlean fer….fer as long as I can be rememberin’!”

“Which is a shame, because I’m not going to allow you to go, Baatar,” Idertuuya said quietly.

“A - allow? Who’s talkin’ allow? I’m a full woman, I am, and I’ll do as I damn please,” Baatar spat. “Ye not lets me go t’war, fine. I’ll be understandin’ such. But this? This’ll be sailin’, mums, and I wager I knows the hells more ‘bout it than ye do.”

“Okay. Allow me to rephrase this,” Idertuuya said, glaring at her daughter. “You can go, in the sense that with a missing leg and only one arm in perfect working order, you could very well beat me senseless and take off. But you will have to fight me to go. You will walk up that ramp over my unconscious, broken, shattered body, do you understand?”

“The shite - I’m not fightin’ ye, mums,” Baatar replied, perplexed. “What’s the problem?”

“That was my condition. Remember? With Arnar? No privateering. Fighting in self defense. You remember it, Captain Pfarberk?”

“Uh...aye, I do,” Pfarberk replied uneasily, eyes flitting between the two women before him. “Arnar told me as much, he did.”

“Then there you have it. Losing you at sea is a bad enough thought,” Idertuuya said, “but I relented. The sea could claim you and I could not stop that. I can stop you from going off...pirating. If you were to die, all the way out there, at sea, I would not have your body. It would be lost to the waves - or worse- to the Garleans - and then what? At least, here, I can have you teleport home in a time of need. Or I can have your body, so Oyuun and Terbish and I can send you to the Dusk Mother properly.”

“Ye can teach the rites to the cap,” Baatar said quietly.

“No. I could, but it would not be the same. You really don’t understand, do you?” Idertuuya half-shouted, eyes tearing up and her tone steely. “There are four of us Kha left here, Baatarsaikhan of Kha. We could not even put the souls and bodies of our kin to rest, so churned and blasted were the corpses dredged from sea and stone. Gods, I know you want to seek honour in the death of Garlemald itself - but please, the least you can leave behind is your corpse.”

“The hells you on ‘bout? You lost yer wantin’ for vengeance? Ye gone soft?” Baatar shouted back. “Fuck this - that moon what dropped, ye know the Garleans did’t? Ye thinks me mum-”

“-don't you  _DARE_  raise Chinjaal’s name against me,” Idertuuya said, getting to her feet, her tone low and seething with a rage Baatar had never seen before. “I was her spear-sister, child. I killed with her. I killed for her. Our bond was the blood of our enemies and if you think you can spout the name of your first-mother at me, claim you know what she wanted for you more than myself, then I will draw steel on you outside,” Idertuuya said, spitting on the table. “I will  _break_  you, little warrior, if you ever spit upon your mother’s name like that again. Do you have any idea what your mother and our other kin died for? Have you the slightest inkling of what coming to Eorzea meant? Or have you learned fuck-all all these years, hmm?”

Baatar could say nothing; she opened and shut her mouth several times, blinking in pure shock.

“I’m sorry, Captain Pfarberk,” Idertuuya said simply as she sat back down. “You should not have had to see that, but there it is. There are four Xaela - five Au Ra - in all of Limsa Lominsa, and I will not throw one of our small number to the sea when there are my daughter has other avenues to pursue.”

“No,” Pfarberk said quietly after long pause, “I understand. I do. Baatarsaikhan, it’s been a pleasure - but yer mum’s right. Ye...ye never did speak muchly o’ hows ye got t’Eorzea, ‘sides that it were a nasty thing, and frankly from what I’s heard today it sounds a sordid tale. And yes, I ken, you’s yer own woman - but Twelve, lass, listen to yer mum. Make ‘er happy, eh?”

Baatar said nothing.

“Ye lost yer first-parents. So did I. Yer family’s what matters, Baatar, not some ship or summat,” Pfarberk said, smiling. “And ‘sides - yous can be adventurin’, the Kweh’ll do the sailin’, and when we’s all back in Limsa we can meet’n swap stories, a’right?”

Baatar nodded, staring at the table.

“We’ll not be headed out for a while. If ye wants to be seein’ us, ye can find us at the ship for the next few suns.”

Baatar did not look up to watch him go.

Idertuuya said nothing for several minutes, but eventually she began to speak; her words were like mud in her ears.

That night, Baatar dreamed she stood upon a flaming field of war, her against all of Garlemald, and she dreamt that she put every single Garlean who dared take up arms against her to the axe until she stood, war-song and a smile on her lips, waist-deep in an ocean of bodies and blood.

 

* * *

  
 **30TH SUN OF THE SIXTH UMBRAL MOON  
YEAR 4 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

Baatar let out a long, throaty belch, set down the bottle of ale into the growing pile of empties on her left, sighed contentedly and was about to grab another from her basket when she felt a hand snatch the next bottle out of her hand.

“You know,” Idertuuya said with a frown, tossing the bottle between her hands, “when your brother and sister said that they weren’t sure where you were, I imagined you’d be off in Ul’dah again or the like. Not this. This, Baatar, is just sad.” Her mother gestured to the makeshift picnic spot Baatar had set up at the end of the docks down the road from the brewery; Baatar had piled up a few cushions to lay on, and dragged with her a crate full of various ales and wines, as well as a small stack of lurid romance and adventure novels.

“What? I’s just enjoyin’ meself, havin’ a snack an’ watchin’ the waves as I read. What’s the harm?” Baatar shouted in frustration.

“What’s the - Baatar, you have done nothing but drink and fight people in the Marauder’s Guild for the last...gods, for the last three moons. This is exactly what I was talking about! You’re not even testing up higher in the guild! I told you, I worried about exactly this situation,” Idertuuya shouted back, glaring at her daughter.

“Hey! I’s me own gil, I makes the cash from the royalties what the business makes. Who’s to be sayin’ I can’t do as I please, eh?” Baatar shot back.

“I am your mother,” Idertuuya snapped, “and I am sick of seeing you waste your days drinking and doing absolutely nothing productive.”

“Well why’s I have to be productive-like? Right comfortable, I am!”

“Because - I cannot believe you. You have to ask? Chinjaal and Gonbaatar are no doubt screeching at you from the embrace of the Dusk Mother herself. I am not saying you must venture forth and slay Primals or dragons or the like, Baatarsaikhan of Kha,” Idertuuya shot back. “I am saying that, for example, Oyuunchimeg has enough coin now from her own business and the soap-sales to retire this instant, to hand over her work to others. But she does not, and d’you know why?”

“I figures you’ll tell me,” Baatar groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Because she has a set of hands that work and she knows that she owes the city that took us in. Never forget that, Baatar,” Idertuuya scolded - though in a less caustic tone than before - as she sat next to Baatar. “Limsa Lominsa could have turned us away. They could have done to us like the Gridanians and Ishgardians did to your friend, Cherantai. But they did not! They welcomed us, accepted our culture and our goods and our work.”

“Aye, an’ I done them the solid as a sailor, I did,” Baatar spat. “And ye wouldn’t be lettin’ me join th’Kweh to be doin’ privateerin’, and so I relents, and I stays here.”

“I didn’t want you to be a privateer because you can be more than a pirate,” Idertuuya replied coolly.

“Twelve, what’re ye, Kanna?”

“Gods damnit, Baatar, she’s right and you know it. You have a pair of blunderbusses and your very own axe. If you so badly want to fight the Garleans, you can join the military - and if not, then you can adventure on out into the wild, toughen yourself up and join any of the mercenaries out at the Gridanian border.” Idertuuya shrugged, stared off into the waters before them. “Your mother was a warrior. Your father was a warrior. I was a warrior. I...I don’t want to lose you, Baatarsaikhan, and where once I was a woman who craved fire and blood I’ve come to see hearth and home as my new calling. But we Kha, we Xaela - we Au Ra - are a fighting people. It is in our veins. And if you’re going to continue that legacy where I and Terbish and Oyuunchimeg have strayed, then I would have you do it safely. Where you can teleport home if you’re in trouble. Where you can write me if you’re away. Where, if you die, I know someone can bring your body home to me, instead of it being carried away on foreign waves.”

Baatar glared at Idertuuya for a moment.

A long silence.

Her expression softened.

“I-” Baatar started her sentence, stopped, shut her mouth.

Another long silence.

“Piss. Yer right, aren’t ye,” Baatar muttered at long last.

“Of course I’m right,” Idertuuya said matter-of-factly. “You don’t fight back this hard when I’m wrong.”

Baatarsaikhan grumbled something incoherent, tossed one of her empty ale-bottles into the water and watched it float away.

“A’right. Where’s do I start, eh, mums?” Baatar asked. “I’ve not the faintest fuckin’ clue how t’be...adventurin’.”

“I never thought you’d ask,” Idertuuya said, putting her arm over her daughter’s shoulder. “I have some contacts in the Maelstrom - I’ll see if I can’t find anything for you. Most people have to get their license at Baderon’s - you know, the whole ‘go kill me a few squirrels and birds’ deal - but I figure with the work and training you’ve done you can be goin’ straight to helpin’ folks.”

“Ye seem...alright with me takin’ up a line’o’work that jus’ might have me killin’ folks,” Baatar noted.

Idertuuya blinked, then shrugged. “Well...yes? Sometimes I think you forget that I was a warrior before we came here - and a Maelstrom officer who saw combat just behind the frontlines before the Calamity. You’re a good lass - I’m not worried about you turning into some mad serial-killer or the like - and, frankly, there are people out in the realm that would better serve the common-folk dead than alive.”

“And the dangers?”

“Danger? Baatar, you and your siblings sailed the open seas less than a half-year or so after the Calamity - and of the two dozen or so ships which did so, only six survived the year without sailors lost at sea. You’ve been living dangerously for the last four years,” Idertuuya explained slowly.

“Well,” Baatar replied, scratching her head, “I never did thinks it such-a-way, but when you says it like so I s’pose it makes sense.”

Idertuuya started to open her mouth, but paused as a thought came to her. She slowly grinned. “Well, if I have to be the one who does all your thinking for you, maybe you’re right: perhaps you shouldn’t leave after all.”

Baatar’s expression tightened, her brow furrowing in thought. “This….this’ll be one’ve them...psy...psycho...whatever Xomni’n’Momolk’ll be pullin’ on me, won’t it? Say one thing so I does another?”

Idertuuya snorted. “Depends. Did it work?”

“...Shite, piss ‘n vinegar,” Baatar muttered after a moment’s thought. “I thinks it actually did.”

 

* * *

 ****

 **4TH SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 5 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**

 

 

“Hey, hornface! Wake up!” Momolk shouted, prodding Baatar in the side with a broom.

“Ah, shite, fuck, I’m up!” Baatar yelped, scrambling out of bed. “What’n the fuck ye doin’, Momo?” She flinched as Momolk tossed a sheaf of parchments directly into Baatar’s face; Baatar grabbed them and began to read.

 

 _To: Commander Idertuuya Kha, Maelstrom Command, Ret._

 _From: Commodore Reyner Hansred_

 __

_Dear Idertuuya,_

 _It was good to see you yesterday, and I am happy to hear that Baatarsaikhan has finally taken an interest in putting her no-doubt considerable (latent) skills to use. As it turns out, there is plenty of work to be done - and I believe I have a lead that would be an excellent way for your daughters and son to follow as a way of getting their feet wet in the adventuring business, so to speak._

 _No doubt you have heard rumours of the numerous disappearances of individuals of all race, class and standing within and around the city of Limsa Lominsa; I can neither confirm nor deny that these rumours are true, but Maelstrom Command is willing to say that they would be happy if adventurers were to investigate the veracity of these claims._

 _In the case of your children, we have a person of interest by the name of Staelwyrn Rostnzantsyn, owner of the Summerford Farms; Baderon Tenfingers of the Drowning Wench submitted an open notice a few suns ago, stating that his old friend, Staelwyrn, is looking for adventurers willing to risk danger to deal with a “sensitive matter.” I’m sure you’re aware of the man, but you might be best served explaining that you do business with the man as part of your work with your brewery._

 _The job should not place your children in serious danger, though, of course, adventuring outside of the gates of a settlement post-Calamity, even nearly five years onward, can be dangerous. Ensure your children are aware that there are a great many wild, vicious beasts on the prowl beyond the city gates, and that many have grown in size since before the fall of Dalamud; I trust you will ensure their arms are in order._

 _Again, it was my honour to see you again, and I hope that I will soon be hearing about the exploits of your children.  
_  


 _May the Navigator keep you whole and hale,_

 _Commodore Reyner Hansred_

 

“Oho! We’s a job, eh?” Baatarsaikhan said, hopping to her feet; now finally awake, she took in the sight of her siblings, fully-armed and equipped for adventuring.

Momolk and Xomni’to both had their usual robes on, picatrixes hooked around their belts by drawstring, and quills attached to their sleeves with lanyards; a small hatchet and an ornate, engraved double-barrelled pistol hung from Momolk’s waist, while Xomni’to wore a full six-brace of unadorned single-barrel pistols.

Baatar let out a low whistle and nodded approvingly. “Gods damn, don’t the two’ve ye look like yer ready for war, eh?”

“And yer still in yer pajamas,” Momolk snorted. “Come on, then, get yer kit!”

Baatar stripped out of her pajamas as Xomni’to pointedly raised his gaze to the ceiling; in short order she strapped on the cuirass she’d bought the day before, slipped on her padded trousers and clamped her greaves and gauntlets on. Next was her double-bladed axe, slung over her shoulders, two sawn-off blunderbusses into holsters on her waist and her old sailor’s knife tucked into a sheath bolted to her right shoulderpad.

Satisfied, Baatar turned around and grinned. “Right then. Let’s go find ourselves this farmer-man, shall we?”

“Baatar,” Xomni’to said in a low drawl, “you look like you’re ready to cut someone’s head off.”

“Fuckin’ right y’are. I hopes we’re ambushed by brigands so I can be cuttin’ their baws off, I do,” Baatar said proudly.

“Ahh, good ol’ Baatar. Head fulla fire and little else besides,” Momolk sniggered.

“Y’know what?” Baatar said, walking past her siblings. “I’m in a fine mood this sun, I am. Yer insults’ll be rollin’ right offa me, they will!”

The three laughed amongst themselves as they left the apartment and passed through Terbish’s empty store; they exited, and Xomni’to was about to lock the door behind them when Baatar yelped in surprise.

He and Momolk turned to find none other than Kanna, dressed head-to-toe in a plain set of black robes, with a strange iron band around her waist; several small pouches hung from the band, as did her two swords. Kanna bowed deeply, and smiled as she addressed the trio.

“A fine morning to you, Momolk, Xomni’to, Baatarsaikhan,” Kanna said politely.

“Mornin’,” Baatar replied, her expression confused. “Uh….what’s with yer robes an’ yer swords?”

“Well, I had a vision the night last that you three would be setting out on an adventure of some sort - the details were not clear. But,” Kanna noted with more than a little amusement, “the basics of my visions have never been wrong, and so I told Chef Hyllsbornsyn at the Bismarck that I would have to leave my full-time work there for the foreseeable future. This morning, I put on my fighting garb - untouched since I settled in Limsa Lominsa - and came to see you three early in the morning.”

“Shite,” Momolk muttered. “Ye could’ve rang, y’know. How longs you been waitin’ here?”

“Four bells,” Kanna replied with a shrug. “By the clock in your Uncle Terbish’s window it is just past ten, and I arrived not long after six.”

“Ahhhh, well, rang or no, yer here,” Baatar huffed. “Well, if ye wants to be taggin’ along I’s no trouble. We’s not wantin’ fer gil or the like - hells, if ye want ye can be splittin’ my share’a coin.”

“Goodness,” Kanna answered in genuine surprise. “I - there is no need for such a thing.”

“Well we can work out payment, you know, once we actually get paid,” Xomni’to noted. “Shall we?”

“Yes! Onwards! To fame, blood and glory!” Baatar shouted excitedly, pumping a fist in the air.

“Hold, ye nut,” Momolk muttered, shaking her head as the four set off towards the gates that would take them out to the fields of Middle La Noscea, just beyond the city walls. “We’s goin’ to see a fuckin’ farmer, not killin’ the Emperor of Garlemald.”

“One sun at a time, Momolk, one sun at a time. Today we helps a goodly farmer, an’ one day we’ll be standin’ in Garlemald with the ‘eads of every o’ their fuckin’ soldiers on bloody fuckin’ pikes,” Baatar said cheerfully. “Just you wait an’ see, dear sister. I see big things on the horizon! Big things!”

  


* * *

  
**END OF INTERLUDE**

 **Kanna Minamoto**  has joined the party.

PARTY:

Baatarsaikhan Kha  
Race: Au Ra, Xaela  
Age: 23  
Class: Marauder, Level 14

Xomni'to Molkoh  
Race: Miqo'te, Keeper of The Moon  
Age: 23  
Class: Arcanist, Level 15

Momolk Molkoh  
Race: Lalafell, Dunesfolk  
Age: 23  
Class: Arcanist, Level 15

Kanna Minamoto  
Race: Au Ra, Raen  
Age: 21  
Class: Ronin, Level 20


	11. BOOK ONE: A REALM REBORN

**FINAL FANTASY XIV**

**BOOK I: A REALM REBORN**

**PART ONE: IN THE COMPANY OF ADVENTURE**

****

 

 

The group made their way up past the Aetheryte Plaza and out to the Zephyr Gate; they traversed the long, wood-stone bridge that connected the seaside city to the mainland of Middle La Noscea, ambling across past the occasional chocoobo-pulled cart.

“So, my vision showed us speaking with a man who wore the garb of a farmer,” Kanna asked, “and I was hoping you could fill me in on the details?”

“Hmm. There - apparently, I’ve not heard them - have been rumours of kidnappings in our city,” Xomni’to noted. “I have no idea where these rumours come from-”

“-that’s ‘cause you don’t got friends what do the rumours-” Baatar interjected.

“-but, they’re serious enough that apparently the Maelstrom’s lookin’ favourably upon adventurers takin’ a look at the thing.”

“Kidnappings?” Kanna mused. “ Hmmm. I have heard some of the cooks speak of such things, though I would note that gossip between cooks is hardly a reliable source of information.”

“‘Ere,” Baatar said, tossing Kanna the folded letter from Commodore Reyner. “There’s the facts o’ the thing.”

“How queer,” Kanna muttered, tail flicking back and forth as she read the letter. “It must indeed be serious if the Maelstrom’s getting involved - even in such a small capacity.” She handed the letters back to Baatar, who stuffed them into a pouch on her belt. “Still, I do wonder if this is not simply a rumour that has gotten out of hand.”

“Well, normally I’d be agreein’ with ye,” Momolk replied, a thoughtful expression on her face as she looked up to meet Kanna’s gaze, “but this’ll be a thing that’s been said for more than a few moons, aye.”

“Doesn’t make it true,” Xomni’to offered.

“Well that’s what we goodly adventurers’ll be for, eh?” Baatar nodded to herself and grinned. “A mystery! A fine way to be startin’ our adventure, I thinks. None’ve this shite what has us killin’ ladybugs ‘n chickens or summat.”

“Well enough, I suppose. Odd, too, that our first venture into the world of adventure leads to Summerford Farms,” Kanna mused. “I have been there more than once during my time with the Bismarck. Never did I think it would serve as any more than a place to procure foodstuffs.”

“Oh. How’s the place, then?” Baatar asked. “We buys their goods for the brewery, aye, but I’ve ne’er been in person.”

“It is a farm,” Kanna noted dryly. “You have been on a farm before, yes?”

“Oi, ye don’t needs to be rude ‘bout it,” Baatar replied. “I nots been, aye, but I worked some farms when I were younger.”

“I’ve not been t’a farm before! Is it pretty-like-a-paintin’?” Momolk asked eagerly.

“Ah...beautiful, yes. Natural. But the land does smell of manure,” Kanna explained sadly. “As one who did not grow up on a farm, or spend much time on one, I must admit that the smell of manure does little to complement the view.”

The group of four fell into silence as they reached the end of the bridge; the guards on duty nodded at them as they passed into the lush, green countryside of Middle La Noscea, and Baatar let out a low whistle as they took in the sprawling fields before them.

“Well I’ll be. Now here’s a pretty thing,” Momolk muttered.

“Pardon?” Kanna asked, perplexed. “No. You cannot be saying that you haven’t seen La Noscea since the bridges were repaired.”

“Uhhh….I haven’t?” Baatar answered, wrapping her tail around her waist and scratching at her butt with the tip of her scaly tail. “I been to Moraby with these two, I have. Aleport, too. But not here.”

“How? Your mother trades with Summerford Farms, no?”

“Aye, but Staelwyrn an’ ‘is folk, they brings the cart to town,” Baatar replied sheepishly. “An’, uh, I’s no reason to be goin’ outta the town, what with Ul’dah bein’ but a teleport away.”

“Baatar’s more or less got the right of it,” Xomni’to added. “The city’s big enough, and we - well, at least until now - have spent enough time at sea that simply being in the city is a pleasure.”

“I suppose that...is a reasonable enough answer.”

The walk from Limsa Lominsa’s outskirts to the Summerford Farms took nearly three bells; the pace they chose was a slow one, with plenty of time set aside for Baatar and Momolk to ooh and ahh over the cliffside views of the ocean and the various critters scurrying about the grasslands. Soon enough, though, they arrived at a long stretch of fenced-off farmland where dozens of swarthy, muscled men and women worked the fields; a large house sat atop a hill which overlooked the farmland, with a spiral path leading up to the hill’s summit. The farmers milling about the base of the hill paid little mind to the would-be adventurers as they ascended the spiral path; there, standing outside the house which served as the farm’s office stood an old, dark-skinned Roegadyn man, clad in pink-dyed hempen robes. A worn eyepatch covered his left eye, and despite bearing little more than a few tufts of balding white hair upon his head the man wore a prodigious beard.

“Ahh! Kanna - and, wouldn’t ye know’t, Idree’s kids! How’ll you four be, eh? And what’s with yer getup?” Staelwyrn Rostnzantsyn said, waving a massive hand at the group.

“Oi, afternoon t’ye,” Baatar said as the others greeted the man. “How’s the farmin’ this sun, eh?”

“Ahh, the same,” Staelwyrn replied, gesturing to the farmlands around him. “Y’know the farm’ands...buncha lazy louts, most’ve them. Theys all heard th’Admiral would be payin’ them to work the land, ‘stead o’ pirating, and they thoughts it’d be easy - so when I tells them to be wakin’ up at sunup they’ll be all pissed-like.”

“One must wonder why they accepted the deal in the first place,” Kanna muttered.

“Coin, I’spose,” Staelwyrn replied, shrugging. “Prob’ly thought farmin’ were an easy life, th’idiots. Anyroads, you lot look like a rich buncha ‘venturers - yer ‘ere for the thing from the Maelstrom an’ ol’ Baderon?”

“Aye, that’ll be so,” Xomni’to answered. “Something ‘bout kidnappings, or the like?”

“Shite, keep yer voice down,” Staelwyrn hissed, glancing down at the farmers milling about the bottom of the hill. “Look, this talk’a folks what go missin’, it’s got me workers right pissin’ themselves, it does.”

“Have any of your farmers actually been kidnapped - or, at least, gone missing? Kanna asked.

“We - well, no,” Staelwyrn replied, rolling his eyes, “but that don’t mean they’re wrong fer sure neither.” He paused, scratched his head, then nodded to himself. “See, normally, when me workers start moanin’ ‘bout things I tune’em out, but lately they been sayin’ that there’s been a buncha right savage-lookin’ louts, what been creepin’ ‘round the farms an’ spyin’ on’em.”

“Savage-lookin’, huh,” Momolk mused. “And yer farmers’ll be thinkin’ these folks’re the kidnappers that the rumours’ll be speakin’ of?”

“Jus’ so,” Staelwyrn replied. “I haven’t seen them with me own eyes, but by all accounts they’ll be swarthy, muscled folk what have these strange blue tattoos on’em. ‘Fraid that’s all I has for ye.”

“What? Haven’t yer farmers the foggiest ideas as to where these tattooed louts’ll be comin’ from?” Baatar pressed.

“I mean...sure,” Staelwyrn answered. “Any’a yous has a map?”

Momolk popped open her satchel and pulled out a worn parchment map of the La Noscean region; she proffered it to Staelwyrn, who knelt down to take it. He studied it for a moment, then pulled a thick graphite stick from his belt and circled a few spots. “Well, ‘ere’s the most likely places I can be thinkin’ of - there’s the Driftin’ Caves, to the south a tad, along the cliffside - lotsa little nooks’n crannies what can be hidin’ a fellow. Same fer the caves up on Woad Whisper Canyon, up north past the The Descent. Oh, an’ I s’pose there’s Seasong Grotto, where they put the Sailor’s Requiem statue.” He rolled the parchment back up, knelt down and handed it back to Momolk, who stuffed the roll into her pouch.

“Well, I ‘spose we best be gettin’ out there an’ searchin’ for clues all quick-like, eh?” Baatar said. “Thanks fer the markin’s - we’ll be back if we does find summat or not.”

“Be safe, then,” Staelwryn said gravely. “I’ll not know what sorta miscreants you’ll be lookin’ fer - and if they’ll be the kidnappers, well, I can’t say you’ll be safe speakin’ to’em. Come back in one piece, y’hear? I’ll not want Idree tearin’ me a new arsehole.”

“Aye, we’ll be a’right,” Baatar replied. “Anyfolk tries to be kidnappin’ us, I’ll blow their fuckin’ kneecaps out.”

Staelwyrn snorted a laugh and waved as the group descended the spiral back down to the fields; the group walked a bit away from the farm, and clustered together.

“May I have a look at the map, Momolk?” Kanna asked; Momolk nodded and tossed the parchment up to her. “Hmm. Now, if I were a roguish criminal bent on hiding from the authorities, I would probably wish to avoid the Seasong Grotto - the caves within would be too obvious a choice, I think.”

“Aye, ye says such,” Xomni’to replied with a frown. “But th’aether there’s thick-like - something’ll be up, I think.”

“Wot,” Baatar said, scratching her horns. “Hows you know a thing like that?”

“What, can ye not use yer eyeballs? Look,” Momolk said, pointing at a section of hill that sloped out of sight. “That’s queer as shite, that is - I never did see any aether that’s...purple. First time, I’ll wager.”

“Wait. You can  _see_  aether?” Kanna asked, perplexed.

“What, can you not?” Xomni’to replied, frowning.

“Naw, ye thick bastard,” Baatar replied. “Nobody’ll be seein’ aether ‘less you be doin’ magic or the like.”

“Well I can see it,” Xomni’to shot back.

“As can I,” Momolk replied uneasily.

“The shite - why’s you never said nothin’ ‘bout it?” Baatar muttered.

“‘Cause there’s nothin’ to be said. Normally,” Xomni’to explained, “aether’s just...itself. Blue, white, flows in the air. Only time I’ve seen different was durin’ the Calamity, and I figures everyone could be seein’ the red stuff then.”

“Fire?” Kanna frowned. “You do mean fire, yes?”

“I dunno,” Xomni’to replied. “I was busy tryin’ not to be turned into paste by the moon-bits.”

“Well, I says we go see the Grotto first anyhows,” Momolk said, shrugging. “Far as I can be seein’ it, aether’s not s’posed to be purple, nor all...whirly-like. Let’s be seein’ why.”

The Seasong Grotto was known to the group; Baatar recalled that a statue bearing the text of the Sailor’s Requiem had been placed there not long after the Calamity, in honour of those who would and had perished at sea - and such that the souls of any sailors who died on land might find their way back to water. Still, neither had been, and when the group arrived at the mouth of the cave Baatar could not help but smile and feel a sense of approval at the candle-lit cave which was tucked into the ground.

“Hold,” Momolk said suddenly, tapping Baatar’s leg before she could walk down the short stone ramp that had been placed at the cave’s entrance.

“Wot, ye got cold feets?”

“No, hold up. Something’s not right,” Xomni’to muttered; with a quick press of the button on the side of his monocle he switched lenses, and focused on a spot just before the stone monument which lay in the centre of the cave. “There, Momo - you see it?” he said, pointing.

“Aye. Lookit, th’aether’s all...fucky, by the front ‘o the monument,” Momolk muttered.

“I don’t see nothin’ where yer pointin’,” Baatar noted.

Kanna smiled and shrugged. “Well, apparently the two of us lack their aether-sight. Perhaps it would be best just to follow their lead?”

“I ‘spose.”

Baatar and Kanna followed closely behind the Molkoh siblings as they slowly crept down the ramp until they were no more than ten of Xomni’to’s bigger paces away from the monument; Momolk yelped slightly and Xomni’to let out a low growl at an unseen thing.

“Here,” Xomni’to hissed, prodding at a space directly in front of the monument. “There’s, how to explain it - there’s an odd sort of aetheric disturbance right here. Circular in shape, grey-purple instead of blue and...queer.”

Momolk nodded and traced a line from the base of the monument up to the ceiling of the cave. “Aye, there’s - it’s faint, but there’ll be like a sorta line? I guess? Aye, an aetherline up that goes outta the cave, I thinks. Not sure where it goes - it’ll be too faint for me to be seein’.”

“A trap, I would wager,” Kanna muttered darkly. “If we’ll not be able to discern the direction this trap, ah, signals to, I suppose the best thing to do would be to...trigger it? Then see what happens next?”

“Aye, there’s an idea. I’ll not see no traps or the like...maybe it’ll call some’a these kidnappin’ folk? That’d be a real nice thing,” Baatar agreed. “Then we cuts their baws off and haul’em back to Limsa for a fine interrogatin’.”

“Or the trap might explode and kill all of us,” Xomni’to noted dryly.

“No, it’ll not be the right sort. This’ll not be thaumaturgy,” Momolk said, scratching her chin. “If y’ask me, the circle, it kinda looks like arcanima - don’t it look like a signal beacon array?”

“I - yes, I suppose I can see the resemblance. It’s got the quadruple-rectangle array by the bottom, anyway,” Xomni’to noted. “And-”

“-I am the waves that bear,” came a rich, cultured-sounding Lominsan accent from the cave’s entrance. “I am the winds that guide. I am the evening sta-”

“-shut it, ye daft shite,” Baatar said, glaring daggers at the newcomer - a white-haired Miqo’te sunseeker, garbed in white short robe and leggings; a wand and a queer three-lensed device hung from her belt. “We’s busy - don’t be readin’ the damn Requiem for us! It’ll be right on the stones - we can read it ourselves.”

“I - ah - of course,” the woman replied, her expression both unamused and yet still bearing a smirk. “So, what are you four fine adventurers doing here this sun? I had come to investigate an aetheric disturbance in the area, when I saw you four entering the Seasong Grotto.”

“We’s here thinkin’ ‘bout whether we should be activatin’ this trap ‘ere,” Momolk replied, pointing at the (supposed) aetheric circle by the monument.

“How...how do you know there’s a trap there?” the woman replied.

“Twelve, can none of ye see aether proper-like?” Momolk answered, throwing her arms up in frustration.

“Wait. You can see aether?” The woman frowned. “That is interesting. Very interesting indeed. Well, I had hoped to find some clue of the kidnappers of rumour, but an aetheric trap? That, too, would serve as an interesting answer.” She pulled the lensed-device from her belt and strapped it to her face, before frowning and tucking it back onto her belt. “And you are correct - there is a trap, or at least a signal of some sort there.”

“We should be settin’ it off,” Baatar said eagerly.

“I agree. It serves us ill to simply stand here and wonder about these kidnappers, when some party has set a manner of trap for any would-be worshippers. Perhaps, though, we ought to prepare ourselves before we trigger the trap, in case something untoward is called upon us?” Kanna offered.

“A fair idea. Momolk and I will prepare barriers; Baatar, you should probably take the front line, what with your armour and thick skull,” Xomni’to noted.

“Wait. That’ll be an insult, won’t it,” Baatar replied.

“Yes. It was. Congratulations, you made record time on figuring it out.”

“Go fuck yerselfs,” Baatar grumbled as she unsheathed her axe and drew one of her sawn-offs before adopting a ready stance by the mouth of the cave. “Oi, Kanna, you keep behind me - whatever might be comin’, we’ll not want aythin’ touchin’ the Molkohs, even as armed as they might be.”

“Fair enough.” Kanna walked in between Baatar and the Molkohs, a hand on her black sword. “I am ready.”

The white-haired miqo’te woman watched with interest as the four adventurers checked their gear, tightening straps and checking their weapons; Momolk and Xomni'to both flipped to pre-drawn arrays near the front of their picatrixes and traced the quick-fill lines required to summon their familiars. The worn emerald that always hung around Xomni'to's neck flared to life, as did the small chunk of topaz Momolk wore around her wrist; in short order, two sets of magic arrays flared as the aetherconducting ink on the pages lit up a brilliant white - and two four-legged, long-eared Carbuncles popped into existence at Momolk and Xomni'to's feet - one yellow, the other blue.

Thought she did her best to hide it, it was fairly obvious by her look and her twitching tail and ears that the white-haired miqo'te found the situation somewhat amusing. “So you four are...new to adventuring?” the woman asked as Momolk and Xomni’to both began casting Protect on the group as a whole, heaxagonal barriers popping up around each person in the cave.

“Aye,” Baatar answered, still scanning the mouth of the cave. “Why y’askin’?”

“You just seem...very put-together for adventurers who are starting their careers. And I must also say I’ve never seen an axe-woman carry two sawn-off shot-guns as a backup,” the woman said with no small amount of amusement.

Baatar shrugged. “I never done shot a sod with one’ve these, but I has done so on a swine carcass. Worked good ‘nough for me then.”

In short order the group of four was ready; the white-haired-woman took a deep breath and drew the small maple wand from her belt. “Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose you lot will be wanting to activate that trap? I myself have some skill in conjury, so if it is no problem I hope you shall not decline my assistance.”

“Hehe, who’s to be turnin’ down some free healin’? Makes my job easier. And so I says: nothing ventured,” Momolk said eagerly before sticking one of her tiny booted feet into the circle.

Momolk frowned and stomped around in the circle for a few moments; Xomni’to made an odd sort of grumbling noise. “Here. Let me try.” He stuck a leg in and flinched as the circle audibly dissipated; the assembled group turned back for a moment before a pounding noise from above the cave caught their attention.

“Well, I suppose that answers the question as to whether that was a trap or not,” the conjurer muttered.

“Hold, hold, hold,” Baatar shouted as the noises grew louder.

 

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

 

Several massive grey blurs dropped from above the cave’s entrance down onto the ground; the dust kicked up by the things cleared a moment later, revealing at least a half-dozen grey-skinned creatures which stood several heads taller than any roegadyn, their bodies fat and their arms lanky; small, beady eyes peered at the group and mossy protrusions wobbled atop their heads as they belched and shouted at their would-be-prey.

“GOOBBUES!” Baatar shouted, taking aim with her blunderbuss. She fired a spray of shot into the eyes of the monster closest to them; it screamed and flailed around in pain, blinded and bleeding from the cluster of metal balls embedded in its eyes and face. Without hesitation Baatar holstered her gun, leapt forward and began hacking away at the lead monster’s legs, using the goobbue’s size to her advantage as she danced between its stumpy legs. Undeterred, the creature’s kin attempted to charge past the first and into the cave; Baatar simply drew her second sawn-off blunderbuss and fired at the second, such that the two screaming goobbues were now blocking the cave’s entrance.

“Oi!” Baatar shouted. “Ye takes the second one!”

“Molkohs, I shall strike first,” Kanna yelled. “Be ready when I leap back!” Kanna sprinted towards the goobbue blocking the left side of the cave and flung a pair of small knives at the towering beast; one flew into its open mouth, cutting a bloody channel into its tongue, while the other found its mark in the goobbue’s right eye; the beast flailed blindly, aiming a swing at Kanna. The swordswoman slid out of the way, hopped onto the creature’s extended arm and ran up it before slashing across its face, opening a deep, bleeding wound before she hopped off and rolled back towards the Molkohs and the conjurer. “NOW!”

The three spellcasters and two familiars in the back of the line opened up with a barrage of spells; from the Molkohs came a hailstorm of plain, unaspected aether collapsing in upon itself, tearing chunks of foul-smelling flesh from the creature. The conjurer, on the other hand, raised a chunk of earth from the ground, formed it in mid-air into a conical projectile and fired it into the beast’s face, causing it to perish as it fell backwards. Moments later, Baatar’s angry screeching turned into a yell of triumph as she rolled out of the way of a noxious, toxic belch from the Goobbue she was fighting and managed to sever the right leg of the creature; it tumbled to the ground, and with a mighty roar Baatar managed to land five solid overhead swings into the beast’s eye - and skull. The target of Baatar’s ire let out a loud, wheezing gasp as Baatar tore her axe from its head, and Baatar beat her chestplate in defiance and triumph.

“Two down, four more to go,” Baatar shouted. “My axe hungers!”

Faced with the fallen bodies of the first two beasts, the next pair of Goobbues had an even harder time trying to push into the cavern; Baatar, as before, held the attention of the one on the right while the others focused on the left. Kanna fended off multiple strikes from the goobbue facing her and was about to go for a strike to its eyes when it lurched forward without warning; Kanna was sent flying backwards into the ground with a bone-crunching crack as one of the goobbues from behind attempted to push past its kin.

“KANNA!” Baatar shouted. “HEAL HER!”

The conjurer - who had been alternating between firing her magicked rocks and healing whatever injuries Baatar and Kanna had been taking - leapt forward, grabbed Kanna by the scruff of her tunic and dragged her away from the frontline; she began healing her with waves of soothing green aether as Momolk and Xomni’to stepped forward to shield her.

Xomni’to dropped his tome as his carbuncle let loose a gust of wind which blasted the entire line of goobbues backwards several paces; he began drawing and firing his pistols until all six were spent, blinding the one Baatar faced and killing the one Kanna had been fighting. Baatar rolled aside from another blow and slew the beast before her, tearing a massive gash across the beast’s stomach, spilling blood and gore onto the cavern floor.

Now, only two beasts remained, and both howled in rage at the deaths of their kin; Baatar held the attention of one by cutting a deep slash into its arm, but the other simply barrelled through Kanna’s flurry of strikes, making full speed for Momolk; her Topaz Carbuncle managed to deflect several of the creature's blows, but with a roar it managed to lumber past the Carbuncle and snatch the tiny lalafell up in its grasp - and screeched as Momolk buried her (comparatively) tiny hatchet into one of its eyes before drawing her double-barreled pistol and blasting away into the other eye socket. The creature dropped Momolk; Xomni’to caught her as she fell. With a shout, Kanna - who was on the floor being healed by the conjurer - leapt to her feet and sprinted forward, delivering an overhand cut which nearly removed the top of the beast’s head before slumping to the floor, clutching her leg in pain.

With only one beast remaining, Baatar leapt over another strike from the side, planted a foot into the gash she’d cut into the goobbue’s arm before, and pulled with all her might, sending the beast falling forward; without hesitation Baatar slammed the axe’s blade into the creature’s skull, drew her dagger and rammed it into the goobbue’s left eye, then punched the dagger with enough force that it disappeared into the creature’s eye socket.

“Oi! Sound off!” Baatar shouted, panting as the final goobbue let out its final groaning breath.

“I’m up!” Xomni’to yelled.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Momolk said, wiping goobbue spit from her robes and breathing heavily. “Kanna?”

“Oooh, goodness,” Kanna said, wincing as the conjurer pat her on the back.

“How do you fare, miss?” the woman asked. “That should have cleared up any injuries - your leg was partially broken, but I believe it should have set and healed properly. Can you test it for me, gently?”

“I shall,” Kanna said nervously, flexing her left leg and then - with Xomni’to and Baatar’s help - getting to her feet. She took a few experimental steps, then nodded, smiling. “It is sore, but I believe I shall be alright.”

“Thank the Twelve. I would be in great distress, I fear, if I had allowed you to take such an injury,” the conjurer replied, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Now - the question is, how did these goobues just so happen to come upon this cave in an enraged state, upon our arrival?”

“I dunno,” Baatar said, ambling back over to the goobbue she’d slain last and trying to look up the bloody hole she’d carved where its left eye once was. “Maybe it were the fuckin’ magic trap?”

“Well, obviously,” the woman replied sourly. “I meant to ask if, say, the trap called the goobbues, or if it signalled a third party, or, well, you get the gist of the idea, I’m sure.”

“Aye,” Baatar replied, patting around the dead goobbue’s head. “Oi, look!” She scrambled around to the rear of the beast and jammed a gauntleted arm into a hole in its back; she grit her teeth and grunted in exertion before pulling a thin, many-toothed dagger out with a squelch. “Oi, the fuck’s this?” Baatar said, waving the knife around. “Shite, this’ll be a rope-cutter, no?”

“Aye,” Momolk said, walking over. Baatar knelt down to make it easier to see the blade; Momolk examined it with a frown. “Yup. That’ll be a ropecutter’s knife, without a doubt.”

“Check the other backs,” Xomni’to said with a frown.

Baatar nodded and got to work; in short order, she found that each of the goobbues did indeed have the grisly wounds - and daggers - deep in their backs; a few minutes of work later, Baatar laid out all six blades on the ground in front of the memorial.

“Well. Either our culprits are sailors,” the conjurer mused, “or they wish to affect the look of them.”

“Eh, ye can be buyin’ a knife like such in Limsa, no trouble,” Baatar pointed out.

“Indeed - and for very little in the way of gil and time,” Kanna added. “But, going by the simplest explanation - which often is the correct one - I would wager that...we set off the aetheric trap, then our would-be assailants shoved their blades into our goobbue friends, then directed them here via that aetherline?”

“Well, ye can be figurin’ this,” Baatar grumbled. “I has to get me knife back from the skull’a this here goobbue.” She stared at the head of the felled beast before her, then sighed. “Axey, I hopes you like choppin’, ‘cause it’ll look like that’s the way’a things.” Baatar got to work hacking away at the skull of the goobbue in search of her dagger when her axe’s blade hit something solid enough that the cavern echoed with a _ting_ ; Baatar frowned, jammed her gore-spattered arm into the the beast’s head and withdrew a blue hexagonal crystal.

“The fuck’s this?” Baatar asked, waving it around.

“It’s...it’s a crystal,” Kanna said, walking over with the others to examine it.

“Well no shite it’s a crystal,” Baatar replied dryly. “Why, I thi-”

Baatar blinked.

She was no longer in the cave.

In fact, she was no longer anywhere, as far as she could tell.

She stood upon an endless, empty plane of black-blue the colour of night sky, flecked with tiny sparkles of white light.

“What’n the fuck…”

 

**_HEAR._**

 

The voice rang out; soft, motherly, echoing as though the speaker were everywhere throughout this strange, empty place.

 

**_HEAR. FEEL._**

 

An orange mote of light flared to life. Like the sun. Brighter.

The light flashed a dark red; a black-robed man, face obscured by a visor of red.

Baatar looked down to find herself wearing some sort of strange, metal garb; a glowing double-bladed axe in her hands.

The man’s mask shone a horrid blood-red; he charged at Baatar, murderous intent clear.

Baatar grinned, raised her weapon. “COME ON THEN, Y’UGLY FUCK!”

 

**_HEAR. FEEL. THINK._**

 

They clashed together, the man’s outstretched arms blocking Baatar’s strike; she screamed in fury, slammed the haft of her weapon into his face and began dismembering him, founts of gore and blood-

Baatar blinked.

She was in the empty plane again, clad in the armour she truly wore, her axe and blunderbusses slung on back and belt.

The man was gone.

A magic array formed beneath her feet, spiralling outwards into a massive circle with six spokes; at the end of each sat an open hole. Empty. Devoid. Wanting.

A lance of light shot out from one of these holes, latching onto the crystal which was once again in Baatar’s hands; the hole became full, shining a brilliant, blinding blue at the same time as the crystal.

Then nothing. Blackness. No light.

The sky, a whirling storm of clouds and orange.

Blurs falling to the ground.

Black again.

 

Then the blue plane again - only now, a brilliant blue-white crystal, conical with the point down, as tall as Baatar was; they floated towards one another, and the voice again.

 

**_“I am Hydaelyn. All made one.”_**

 

Baatar could not open her mouth.

 

Could not speak.

 

Could not find words before the majesty of the crystal before her.

 

**_“Hearken to me, for at last you hear my call. A Light there once was that shone throughout this realm - yet, it hath since grown dim. And as it hath faltered, so hath Darkness risen up in its stead, presaging an end to Life.”_**

 

More crystals, all swirling and spinning and orbiting the great crystal which called itself the name of the celestial body Baatar thought she lived upon.

 

**_“For the sake of all, I beseech thee: deliver us from this fate.”_**

 

The crystals grew in size. In number. In majesty. In presence.

 

**_“The power to banish the Darkness dwelleth within the Crystals of Light. Journey forth. Lay claim to them.”_**

 

By now the crystals - all of them, and most of all Hydaelyn - towered over her.

Bigger than anything she could even fathom.

All-encompassing.

All made one.

 

**_“By thy deeds shall the Crystals reveal themselves to thee. Only believe, for the Light liveth in thine hearts.”_**

 

Baatar glanced around - and realized that she was not the only one hovering before Hydaelyn.

There, besides her, was Xomni’to and Momolk and Kanna; they saw one another, yelled and shouted, but no words or sounds could escape their lips.

And there were more.

Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Baatar could not say. Other humanoid motes of light, from three-fulm high Lalafell to roegadyn, six or seven times as large.

Off in the distance, Baatar swore she could see Valére and Cherantai.

All at once, everyone began to glow and spin and ascend and become one with Her.

All made one.

 

**_“Go now, my children, and shine thy Light upon all creation.”_**

 

 

 

* * *

 

“Awake again, are we?”

Baatar groaned as she rubbed at her horns and looked around; she, Xomni’to, Momolk and Kanna were all on the floor of Seasong Grotto; the conjurer was seated on the ground, cross-legged, examining the blades Baatar had yanked out of the goobbues.

“Ahh. You four are awake, and seemingly recovered from your sudden, ah, afflictions,” the woman said with a raised eyebrow.

“Shite,” Momolk said quietly. “What’n the fuck did - did we just - what?”

“I must confess,” the woman continued, “I was surprised when all of you simply, ah, collapsed, after brandishing that crystal around. May I examine it?”

Baatar coughed, picked up the crystal and tossed it now-dim crystal over to the woman; she caught it, put on her goggles and examined it.

“Odd. There’s...there’s no aether, or the like. Nothing special, as far as I can tell.” The woman tapped the crystal on the ground - and flinched as it shattered into a fine blue dust.

“I...I hope that weren’t important,” Baatar muttered.

The woman looked at her hand, then at the ground, then at the dust in her palm. “Hmm. Well,” she said, tucking some of the dust into a vial pulled from her tunic, “I suppose we shall find out eventually. Nonetheless, I must say that I am quite relieved to see that - whatever it is caused your sudden collapses - perhaps a surefit of aether? In any case, you are alright, and that is what matters. “

“Oi, uh, y’know anythin’ ‘bout a big fuckin’ crystal? What calls itself Hydaelyn?” Baatar asked, helping Kanna and the Molkohs to their feet.

“I beg your - oh.  _Oh_.” The woman tapped at her cheeks with a wide smile on her face. “Well, I must say, this day  _has_  yielded more than a few unexpected revelations.”

“I cannot help but note, miss, that not only have you not introduced yourself,” Kanna said dryly, “but you also did not answer Baatarsaikhan’s question.”

“I’m sorry - though I cannot answer your questions at the moment, I mean no harm by it. I am afraid my investigation takes precedence - though I am sure that we shall meet again. In the meantime,” the conjurer said, tucking the vial of blue dust into her tunic and nodding, “I suggest you return the evidence - that is, these rope-cutting knives - back to Master Staelwyrn and give him a report of sorts, regarding the possible...piratical nature of our adversaries, kidnappers or otherwise.”

“Oi, ye snow-haired furball,” Baatar shouted as the woman began to leave the cavern, “what’s this investigatin’ about, eh?”

“Until next time,” the woman said with a wave. “May our paths cross again under the light of the Crystal.”

The group watched her go in silence, then sat, looking amongst each other.

“Yer dagger,” Momolk said at last. “We still has to be diggin’t outta this poor bastard,” she said, kicking the dead goobbue with her foot.

“Aye, I does.” Baatar grinned and got to work slicing open the beast with her axe. “Now weren’t this a right adventure, eh? We fights a lil’ horde’a goobbues, we talks to a big fuck-off crystal tower what calls herself Hydaelyn - oh! And we meets a frigid, mysterious bitch of a woman who don’t answer no questions.”

“Your mother is going to be thrilled, I imagine,” Kanna said, shaking her head.

“Aye. She’ll fuckin’ love this," Baatar sniggered.

“You know, when Aunty Idree said she’d not want you to go privateering, Baatar, she probably imagined we’d be, you know, killing ladybugs and fetching eggs,” Xomni’to muttered as Baatar hacked the head of the goobbue apart. “I’m fairly certain that, uh, whatever just happened was not on her list of ideal outcomes.”  
  
“Yes. I must admit - I am a little perplexed as to what just happened,” Kanna noted. “We - well, first of all, I was wearing...I think it was the robes of the shogunate’s guard? - and wielding a blade of light? And then a strange, black-robed man attacked me, and then I was standing with you folk in front of the giant crystal.”  
  
“Oh? Odd. I had the vision with the black-robe as well,” Xomni’to said, “but I was wearing some sort of...coat, I think. Also, I had a hat with a horn. I think.”  
  
“A horn?” Momolk shouted. “The fuck! I didn’t get no horn in me vision. Alls I had was a poofy hat or summat.”  
  
“Well - I - had - no - new - horn - neither,” Baatar grunted as she sliced away more goobbue skull. “Ah! There’s me knife,” she said, kneeling in the mushy pile of goobbue bits she’d made; she pulled her knife out of the meat mountain, wiped it on her pants and sheathed it in her shoulder-holster. “But you lot says you were attacked by the black-robed feller?”  
  
“Aye,” Xomni’to said. “We were about to clash, and then that part of the vision was over.”  
  
“HA! Me, I gots to fuck the sod up real good! Cut ‘is fuckin’ arms off, I did,” Baatar said proudly.  
  
“You know, I find it rather fitting that, in a vision from a… crystal that shares the name of our celestial body, you are the only one who managed to turn a prophetic warning into an outlet for your bloodlust,” Kanna said with mild distaste.  
  
“Ah, shut it. I thinks it were pretty cool. Whens do I get an axe what cleaves through bone like butter, eh?”  
  
“Start saving that gil,” Xomni’to snorted.  
  
“Well, I s’pose we should be gettin’ back t’Staelwyrn,” Baatar said, sighing as she made a half-hearted attempt to wipe some of the bloodstains from her chestplate. “Y’think we can be leavin’ these poor goobbues ‘ere?”  
  
“What, you want to move the goobbues?” Xomni’to scoffed.  
  
“Well even if we were wantin’ to be doin’ so,” Momolk pointed out, “ye chopped, like, two’ve’em into tiny little bits. I’m not fuckin’ carryin’ round goobbue chunks all day, no sir.”  
  
“Ah...but this is a memorial, is it not?” Kanna noted. “Would it not be an ill thing to leave these stinking, rotting goobbue corpses here?”  
  
“Iunno,” Baatar replied. “I’s new to adventurin’, I am. There a rule sayin’ y’has to be, uh, movin’ yer kills so they don’t be in-con-venience-in’ other folks?”  
  
“Bollocks to that,” Momolk spat. “What? I’s, like, a yalm tall. Says I kills me a dragon or summat, what, I’m to be draggin’ that shite? I’m strong, aye, but I’m no Roegadyn.”  
  
“I simply think it would be the right thing to do,” Kanna said, sighing. “But, I suppose you do raise a good point. Could we at least...I don’t know, burn the goobbues or something?”  
  
“Ye got oils? Firesand? I gots none’ve that shite,” Baatar said as she slung her axe over her shoulder and began reloading her guns. “Well, I gots powder for me blunderbuss, but that’ll not do nothin’ ‘cept spread the mess, y’ask me.”  
  
“I - hrm. Fine. Let us be away, then,” Kanna relented. “I fear if we remain here longer the smell shall begin to become truly offensive.”  
  
With that, the group of four left the grotto, a gore-covered Baatar cheerfully leading the way; they were halfway back to the Summerford Farms, almost over the top of the hill leading up to the farmland when they rounded the top and ran smack-dab into Staelwyrn and a dozen farmers, all of whom were carrying swords, spears and axes.  
  
“Oh, shite, the fuck happened t’ye?” Staelwyrn said, mouth hanging open at the sight of Baatar.  
  
“I fuckin’ killed me a bunch a goobbues!” Baatar exclaimed proudly.  
  
“ _We_  killed a bunch’a goobbue, ye glory-hog,” Momolk spat as she flicked a piece of eye-jelly from her hatchet.  
  
“Aye, I didn’t mean nothin’ by’t,” Baatar replied sourly. “Oh, right, also we talked t’a crystal or summat. Oh! And there were this white-haired bitch of a woman what didn’t introduce herself or be answerin’ any questions we asked her, ‘cause she had some investigatin’ or some shit to be doin’,” Baatar added.  
  
“White-haired - oh, you must have run into Y’Shtola,” Staelwyrn said, scratching at his beard.  
  
“Who’ll that be?” Momolk asked.  
  
“Ah, right - she’s a scholar of some sort, very well regarded ‘round folk who’re...scholar-like, from what I hears. Studies aether or summat.”  
  
“I s’pose,” Baatar muttered. “She were a right arsehole t’us, though, not answerin’ our questions or nothin’.”  
  
“I’m sure she meant nothin’ by’t, Baatarsaikhan. Eh, Xomni’to, Momolk? Ye gets into yer research, y’ignore socializin’ or the like, no?”  
  
“I - hm.” Xomni’to’s ears flicked back against his skull as he glanced away and coughed into his fist. “Well, our thoughts on this Y’shtola aside, I suppose you folks saw the goobbues, eh?”  
  
“Aye, that we did,” Staelwyrn replied. “One’ve the guys was takin’ a stroll, saw a bunch a goobbues a-thunderin’ to yer cave, and we were real worried-like, so we’s come down real quick-like. I s’pose we were a tad late,” Staelwyrn snorted, gesturing at Baatar.  
  
“Ah, no worries. We did good,” Baatar puffed her chest out happily. “Oh, shite! Right - we gots somethin’ for ye, but, uh, can I be getting’ a tad cleaner ‘fore we do any talkin’?”  
  
“Of course! There’ll be plenty’a fresh-water for ye back at the farms,” Staelwyrn replied.  
  
“Oh. Also,” Kanna said slowly, “we, uh, may have left a bit of a mess at the shrine. Is that… okay?”  
  
“Perfect! Did ye know, Miss Kanna, that goobbue meat, bone’n blood works real good as fertilizer?” Staelwyrn said. “I’ll get some ‘o the folks to fetch carts or summat, and we’ll clean that shite up for ye, no problem.”  
  
“Ah. Wonderful. I find myself rather relieved at this news.” Kanna cast a glance at Baatar. “Baatarsaikhan has even done you the favour of, ah, portioning some of the pieces out for you.”  
  
“Aye, I did th - wait. This’ll be an insult, won’t it?” Baatar shouted. “Oi! Put yer tail up yer arse - shut it!”  
  
The journey back to the farm passed by easily; with Baatar telling the story of their fight (and the others there to chime in whenever she began to get too excited about the grisly details of the encounter), soon enough the group had returned to the top of the hill which overlooked the farms; Staelwyrn himself fetched some old towels and a few buckets of water to let Baatar clean most of the mess from her armour.  
  
“Anyroads, Master Staelwyrn, we found these ropecutters in the backs of those goobbues,” Xomni’to explained, laying out the serrated blades on the ground before the group. “Aye, and there was a magic trap laid by the memorial - we think it signalled some other group to sic the goobbues on us.”  
  
Staelwyrn picked up one of the knives and twirled it around before tossing it back into the pile. “Ah, shite. Ye think it’ll be pirates?”  
  
“Well, it don’t have to be,” Momolk offered. “Likes we told Y’shtola, any sod can be buyin’ these knives.”  
  
“But, just as well, it is the simplest explanation,” Kanna noted, though her tone was placating.  
  
“Hrm. Well, given that most’ve my farmers’ll be, ah, ex-privateers, I’d not be surprised to be findin’ these idiots what send the goobbues after ye’d be pirates, hopin’ to lure me farm’ands back to a life’a plunder and the shite.” Staelwyrn sighed and let out a groan as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I jus’ hopes this shite don’t make non’ve me folk leave. Anyroads, I s’pose I should be sendin’ these things back to the Maelstrom - I gots yer words, so I’ll write’m down and be sendin’ one’ve me boys back out to the Maelstrom for ye - now, if ye wants more work, I’ve got it.”  
  
“Sure, sure, I’m good fer more,” Baatar said eagerly. “Kanna? Yer leg fine?”  
  
“It is alright - sore, as if I had bumped it into something. It shall not hinder me,” Kanna replied.  
  
“Well ‘nuff, then. So! Uh, let’s be seein’ what needs to be done. Gurcant - that’ll be that there hyur o’er there - he needs some pest clearin’ done.”  
  
“Anythin’ else?” Baatar asked.  
  
“Ah, right. Uhh...well, I’s always havin’ problems with some’ve me old sailors not wantin’ to be doin’ the farmin’ they’re s’posed to,” Staelwyrn said sheepishly. “Now, frankly, I’ve a gods-damned farm to be runnin’, so I can’t be chasin’ after each o’ the sods meself. Now, if ye would be kind enough?”  
  
“Aye, you may be no captain o’ a ship now,” Baatar said gravely, “but if they’ll be yer old sailors, then they’s your crew, aye?”  
  
“Aye,” Staelwyrn replied. “Well, not alls, sure, but most.”  
  
“Well fuck’em, then - ye don’t go leavin’ yer cap behind. Who’s we lookin’ for?”  
  
“Ah, there’s five’ve ‘em - Sevrin’ll be the leader o’ the bunch - ye can’t be missin’ ‘im. Bright blonde ‘air, wears ‘imself a bright-red bandanna, walks around like someone went’n made him Admiral o’ the city. The others - well, that’ll be Aylmer, Eyrimhus, Sozai Rarzai, ‘n Wauter. Holds up - I can be showin’ ye lot a picture - come wi’ me.”  
  
The group followed Staelwyrn into the house upon the hill; the lower floors had been converted into an administrative building of sorts, and a painting showing a large group of sailors sitting in front of a pile of weapons sat upon the wall of Staelwyrn’s private office.  
  
“There,” Staelwyrn said proudly. “That were me’n the crew o’ the  _Powderkeg_ , on the left side - ‘fore we put our guns down an’ picked up our hoes. Right side’s most’ve the pirates what we hired later. Ye want these five - see? That’ll be Sevrin, and his ilk,” Staelwyrn noted, pointing out a group of five sailors in the edge of the picture.  
  
“Well enough, then. I figure we shall have no trouble finding and exhorting your sailors to return to work,” Kanna said with a smile. “Let us be away, then; we shall return shortly.”  
  
Finding and sending all of the wayward farmers back to Staelwyrn was easier than Baatar thought it would be; none of the farmers were more than a half-bell away from Summerford Farms, and all of them looked to return to the farm without trouble, though all of them complained bitterly about the difficulty - and boring nature - of farming, compared to their expectations.  
  
“This,” Xomni’to said, as the last of the farmers made way for Staelwyrn’s office, “feels too easy.”  
  
“Wot, ye wants them to be all pissed?” Baatar asked. “Easy’ll be good, I wager.”  
  
“Easy’s also suspicious,” Momolk countered, tapping her foot thoughtfully. “Y’d think we’d need t’be doin’ more than just hearin’ these sods moan ‘bout how tough farmin’ is to be gettin’ them back t’work, eh?”  
  
“Iunno. Plenty’a times one’ve ye has to be hearin’ me whinge ‘bout somethin’ ‘fore I does it,” Baatar pointed out.  
  
“Mm... still, one thing does stand out to me,” Kanna said quietly. “Did none of you notice that Sevrin bore a blue tattoo upon his neck?”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk replied, frowning as she scratched at the approximate spot on her own neck. “That’ll be a crew-marking.”  
  
“Well, none of the other sailors we spoke to had the tattoo, no?” Kanna shrugged. “I mean, Staelwyrn did say that he drew from multiple privateering groups. I just wonder where the rest of Ser Sevrin’s sailors are.”  
  
“What - you don’t mean to imply that Sevrin’s old mates are the kidnappers, do you?” Xomni’to said at last.  
  
“I did not say that,” Kanna replied diplomatically. “Merely that, with the talk of tattoos earlier, I simply found it odd that while other people here have old crewmates at their side, he is pointedly alone.”  
  
“Eh. Let’s jus’ be askin’ Staelwyrn what the deal’s, then,” Baatar said cheerfully. They returned to farmhouse where Staelwyrn was; the old roegadyn was sitting on a large wooden chair outside the house, leafing through a clipboard of parchment.  
  
“Oh! You lot’re back! Thanks fer findin’ me wayward farm’ands - I ‘ppreciate the thing,” Staelwyrn noted with approval. “Well, I’s just the one more job for ye - if ye don’t mind, I’ll want yet t’escort one’ve me carts to the La Thagran Checkpoint, twixt Middle’n Lower La Noscea. Not a dangerous route, aye, but  
  
“I am sure we can do such a thing.” Kanna looked at the others, who all nodded in turn.  
  
“A’right, then.” Staelwyrn smiled and rubbed his massive hands together. “So, the cart, th-”  
  
“-oi! Chief!” The voice came from a ragged, old hyuran man with greying hair and a wrinkled face; he rounded the corner of the spiral hill and stopped, panting.  
  
“Gurcant? What’ll be the matter, eh?” Staelwyrn asked, patting the man on the shoulder.  
  
“Yer cart! Th’orange cart - that right cunt Sevrin, ‘e took off with’t!” Gurcant shouted, pointing a finger south of the farm. “‘Im an’ is fuckin’ mates, they jus’ took the thing and hauled arse t’wards La Thagran!”  
  
“What in the Twelve - why? The fuck ‘e do that fer?” Staelwyrn shouted, kneading his brow with a long-suffering grimace.  
  
“Iunno,” Gurcant spat. “Pfrewahl ‘n some’ve th’others, they says Sevrin were talkin’ ‘bout fencin’ yer goods to a bunch’a goblins or summat.”  
  
“Goblins. Sevrin an’ ‘is mates thinks they can be sellin’ me fuckin’  _oranges_  to  _goblins_. Yer kiddin’ me,” Staelwyrn groaned.  
  
“Wot, ye thinks he wouldn’t be doin’ it?” Gurcant replied in an ‘are you kidding me?’ tone. “A right fuckwit, Sev’s been - shite fer brains prolly thinks it’ll be no trouble.”  
  
“Goblins?” Xomni’to asked. “What - why would they want oranges, of all things? Last I heard, the goblins ‘round Limsa are hunters, not...not connoisseurs of fruits.”  
  
“Well ye talks te Sevrin for a minute, eh?” Gurcant noted with distaste. “He looks t’ye like a man who thinks right-like?”  
  
“Naw - carried hisself like a right bastard,” Baatar said flatly.  
  
“Well, there’s your job,” Staelwyrn growled. “Go’n git me my fuckin’ orange-cart. If ye finds Sevrin - and ‘is mates - ye beats the shite outta them and ye bring’em back ‘ere.”  
  
“And if we do not find Sevrin?” Kanna asked. “Would you desire us to bring your cart La Thagran as planned?”  
  
“Aye,” Staelwyrn replied, nodding. “There’ll be a Yellowjacket at La Thagran - Ossine’ll be ‘is name. Hyur, average height, black ‘air an’ a pencil ‘stache. If ye brings the cart to’im, he’ll be givin’ ye a sack’a gil, which ye can be bringin’ back t’me - ye can leave the cart.”  
  
“Right - we’ll find yer cart, and - if we’ll have the Twelve’s luck - break some skulls for ye.” And with that promise, Baatar and the others took off and began making their way south of the Summerford Farms, passing back over the small over-river bridge which led back towards the Zephyr Gate; by then, the sun was almost beginning to set. Off in the distance, Baatar and the the others could see the torches which stood at the top of the fortifications at La Thagran, and so they began trekking up the slight incline, following the path that Staelwyrn’s farmers were normally supposed to take; they took turns telling each other stories - Momolk of her adventures in Ul’dah, Kanna of her life in Kugane - or, in Baatar’s case, the lewdest, raunchiest jokes she could recall (much to Kanna’s chagrin and Xomnito and Momolk’s amusement, dry and raucous respectively.)  
  
Baatar estimated they were about halfway towards the checkpoint at La Thagran when she spotted a humanoid figure crouched behind a nearby set of bushes; she paused, squinted and spat on the ground a moment later.  
  
“Oi. Oe’er there. Y’see? Hyuran bloke - red bandanna, and I swears, that’ll be’n axe - Sevrin, I’ll wager,” Baatar hissed.  
  
Momolk’s monocle glowed for a brief moment as she adjusted its aether-powered lens. “Aye, yup, that’ll be Sevrin, a’right.”  
  
“Well,” Kanna said, “shall we be accost-”  
  
“-OI! SEVRIN! YE FAT DICK’EAD,” Baatar shouted, unholstering a blunderbuss and aiming at the bush. “YE COMES OUT, SLOW-LIKE, OR I FILL YER SORRY FACE WITH SHOT!”  
  
“What ‘n the fu - a’right, a’right!” Sevrin slowly inched up from the bushes, hands raised above his head; he swore beneath his breath and spat as the group approached.  
  
“Sevrin,” Kanna said crossly. “Last we spoke, you said you would be returning to work under the watchful eye of Staelwyrn - and yet, now we hear that you’ve made off with a cart of his goods? That, if I recall it, is thievery - punishable by hard labour in the mining camps up north.”  
  
“And, if I might add, you intended to fence the goods to a bunch of goblins?” Xomni’to shook his head in disbelief. “I can hardly think of a less solid plan, frankly. Where’re your mates, eh?”  
  
“W - so, wot, Staelwyrn’s got ‘venturers what do his work for ‘im now, eh?” Sevrin glanced at the group, lingering uneasily on Baatar’s sawn-off shot-gun, before jerking a head at a poorly-kept dirt path which forked off the main road. “A’right, fine,” he grumbled. “Looks, maybe I weren’t thinkin’ straight ‘bout the goblin-dealin’ - but those fuckin’ goblins, they double-crossed me’n me mates!”  
  
“And you, the fine, upstanding man that you are, turned tail and ran at the first sight of trouble, leaving your friends to the hands of these goblin hunters?” Kanna said coolly, tail snapping back and forth. “Disgusting. You truly are a pathetic excuse for a man.”  
  
“Excuse or no, look - yer ad-venture-ers, right? C’mon, then - ye save me mates, I return th’orange cart, there’ll be no trouble, aye?” Sevrin said slowly. “Eh?”  
  
“An’ wot, we’s to be believin’ ye won’t just take for the hills when we leaves you?” Momolk mused. “Perhaps we oughta be...bustin’ up yer legs, hmm?”  
  
“We gots bandages,” Baatar growled, inching forward and lowering her arm until her shot-gun’s muzzle was poking into Sevrin’s kneecap. “We gots magic, too. Ye wouldn’t be runnin’ easy without yer fucking knees, would ye?”  
  
“ _Twelve_ , ye made yer point! Shite, what adventurer’s will ye be?” Sevrin exclaimed. “A’right! I won’t go nowhere - I don’t want ye chasin’ me with yer fuckin’ shot-gun, I don’t.”  
  
“Good. Ye sits yer arse right here,” Baatar spat, drawing her knife from its shoulder-sheath and tapping it on Sevrin’s head. “I finds ye moved so much as’n ilm, I’ll slit ye from arsehole to bawbag. Ken?”  
  
“Good gods - yes! I ken!” Sevrin shouted as he sat down.  
  
“Oh. And your axe, please,” Xomni’to added. “We’ll need that.”  
  
“Need - whats I to do, say, if a goblin comes me way?”  
  
“Ye lay there and ye fuckin’ die, ye malignant shite,” Baatar cursed. Xomni’to stepped forward and pulled the axe from Severin’s back; he tossed it over to Baatar, who adjusted the sling of her own weapon and slung Sevrin’s weapon across her shoulders. “Good lad. Sits, and we’ll be back quick-like.” Baatar kicked Sevrin in the sides for good measure, and with that the four began cautiously walking down towards the dirt path.  
  
“You, ah, were not actually going to shoot Sevrin in the knees, were you?” Kanna asked, once the group had walked for a few minutes.  
  
Baatar looked at Kanna, brow raised.  
  
“Right. Thinking about the matter, I am unsure as to why I doubted you’d do such a thing.”  
  
“Wot, ye makes it sounds like the bastard don’t deserve’t,” Baatar muttered. “Double-crossin’, that’ll be bad ‘nough - then leavin’ yer mates? Hells. I should’a shived him anyhows, just fer the good of’t.”  
  
“Do you threaten everyone that upsets you with stabbings?”  
  
“She does,” Xomni’to noted dryly. “This one time, when we were in Gridania, so-”  
  
“-oi, oi, who’s fuckin’ side y’on, brother?” Baatar spat, glaring daggers at Xomni’to.  
  
Xomni’to’s ears twitched and a small smile played upon his lips. “Just telling the truth of things, sister dearest.”  
  
“Also, the side that amuses us the most!” Momolk stuck her finger up eagerly.  
  
“That too.”  
  
“Fuckwits, the both of ya. The way I s- hold,” Baatar said suddenly, dropping into a crouch. The others followed suit, and Baatar pointed at a fork in the path which led behind a mountain bend. “There, past the bends - there’ll be shadows a-flickerin’.”  
  
“Yes, I see it,” Kanna noted. “That’s...signs of a camp, perhaps?”  
  
“Hold. Lemme - I’ll get closer all sneaky-like,” Momolk muttered; she crept off towards the corner slowly, falling onto her stomach and crawling as she neared the bend; once she rounded the corner, she scooted backwards, then returned to the group. “Aye - goblins! Four’ve ‘em, and they’s rounded up Sevrin’s mates.”  
  
“Armaments?” Kanna whispered.  
  
“Bombs, daggers - nothin’ much, I thinks,” Momolk replied.  
  
“Pistols, then,” Xomni’to offered.  
  
“Naw - you’ll not get a clear shot - the shite’s’ll be twixt Sevrin’s mates. Anyfolk moves, ye might miss,” Momolk noted sourly.  
  
“Hrm. A distraction, perhaps? Baatar, if you can lead them away - in a line, preferably - I can be pickin’ them off, no trouble,” Xomni’to explained.  
  
“Aye - I’ll do the thing. Kanna, Momolk, I’ll catch th’attention o’ these goblins - then ye gets between the goblins’n Sevrin’s friends, ken?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan.” Kanna stood up with the others; they crept over to the bend in the path, Baatar in the lead; Baatar attempted to poke her head around the corner, bumped her right horn into the rocks, swore, then repositioned and tried again, succeeding this time. True to Momolk’s description, there were four squat beasts, smaller than Momolk, entirely covered in leathers - complete masks which covered their bulbous mouths - save for their long, horizontal ears, squatting around a small campfire. Staelwyrn’s cart of oranges sat to the side of the fire, and Sevrin’s three would-be-partners-in-crime sat, tied with thick rope and looking more than a little nervous.  
  
“A’right - Xomni, gets yer guns out, be ready,” Baatar whispered.  
  
“Got it,” Xomni’to replied, drawing a pair of pistols and cocking their hammers.  
  
“Here we goes. One, two, three!” Baatar slipped around the bend and ran in a low-crouch towards the camp; the goblins were too preoccupied with searching the cart to notice Baatar until she was but ten paces away from the camp. Standing at her full height, Baatar drew a blunderbuss, unslung her axe and fired into the air with a resounding crack.  
  
“OI, YE CHEESE-EATIN’ GOBLIN FUCKNUGGETS, COME’ERE! I GOTS AN AXE WITHT YER NAME ON’T!”  
  
The goblins shrieked, drew daggers and took off after Baatar; she led them away from the camp, drawing them out in a line; she was about to switch shot-guns when four cracks rang out from the rocks by the path, followed by all four goblins falling to the ground, dead.  
  
Baatar let out a low whistle and crouched over the dead creatures; all four bore holes in the sides of their heads. “Oi! Xomni! Crack shot, y’are!”  
  
“Thank you,” Xomni’to replied as he began reloading his guns. “I try.”  
  
“Eyrimhus! Sozai Rarzai! Aylmer!” Kanna shouted as she and Momolk ran over to the camp. “Are you three unharmed?”  
  
“Who’n the fu - oh, shite, it’ll be you lot,” Aylmer - a lanky hyuran man - sighed. “Ah, fuckit. Sevrin send ye?”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk said, drawing her hatchet and getting to work cutting the three captives free. “He were cowerin’ in a bush, he was, askin’ us folks to be savin’ ye. Couldn’t even be arsed to come hisself.”  
  
“Pissant,” Aylmer spat. “Hells, the threes of us would be gettin’ away fine, if Sevrin hadn’t shoved us to th’ground as bait.”  
  
“Hells,” Eyrimhus - a swarthy, dark-skinned roegadyn - groaned, massaging his wrists once Momolk cut him free, “I thought he’d sold us downriver, he did.”  
  
“So?” Kanna said sternly as the three got to their feet. “Will you be rejoining Ser Sevrin on his mad cart-thieving venture?”  
  
“Bollocks, more like. Naw, we’ll be headin’ back to Staelwyrn an’ the farms. I quits privateerin’ so I could be livin’ without worry, I did,” Sozai Rarzai muttered. “Not so I could be captured by some goblins or whatnot - oe’er a fuckin’ cart’a oranges, no less.”  
  
“Very good. We shall return to the Summerford Farms shortly, and I expect to see all three of you there,” Kanna noted, a hint of steel creeping into her voice. “If not...well, let us simply say that goblins and wayward oranges shall be the least of your worries.”  
  
“Ye don’t has to be sayin’ so twice, lady. We’ll be off!” Aylmer shouted as the three took off at a sprint in the direction of the farms.  
  
“So,” Baatar said, returning to the campfire with an armful of goblin-made grenades, “we takin’ that cart?”  
  
“Baatar, put those down,” Xomni’to said slowly. “You don’t need those.”  
  
“Wot? Gobbie ‘nades - come on, then, you’ll know these things’ll come’n handy at some point, no?”  
  
“No. Maelstrom forbids the carrying of handheld explosives without a license for a reason, sister.” He sighed, and shook his head. “No offence, but if you fumble a grenade while we’re fightin’, that means we all get blown to bits.”  
  
“Ahh, yer no fun,” Baatar said, setting the bombs on the ground. “Well, I’ll be pushin’ the cart - you lot watch the road, then.”  
  
“It is getting dark - hold a moment, if you will,” Kanna said, drawing a small fire-crystal lantern from one of her pouches; she clipped it to her belt. “There. A little light, such that we may see farther.”  
  
Baatar set about checking the cart; it was, indeed, full of orange-stuffed sacks bearing the Summerford Farms name, and despite its heft Baatar had no trouble pushing it along the dirt path back towards Sevrin, with a little help and direction from the others. In short order the group returned, and found Sevrin exactly as they’d left him - still seated next to his bush.  
  
“Oh,” Sevrin muttered, “ye found the cart. What ‘bout me mates?”  
  
“Headed back to Summerford Farms,” Xomni’to answered.  
  
“Sh - hrm. I s’pose I should be rightly shamed fer not bein’ able to clean up me own mess - a man should be able to save ‘is own mates,” Sevrin muttered.  
  
“Yes. Yes, you should be ashamed,” Kanna said coolly. “Now get up, such that we may take you back to Staelwyrn - in one piece, hopefully.”  
  
“Back t - sod that! Take yer cart and fuck off - oh, and be sendin’ Ossine an’ Staelwyrn me regards,” Sevrin spat, taking off into the night.  
  
“YE FUCKIN’-”  
  
“-easy! EASY!” Xomni’to shouted, grabbing onto Baatar’s arm and holding her back from following him.  
  
“Easy? Fuck ye mean? Traitorous bastard - we shoulds be bringin’ his nuts t’Staelwyrn!” Baatar shouted.  
  
“Not our job,” Xomni’to said quietly, still holding onto Baatar’s arm. “And besides, do you think Staelwyrn will be wantin’ a shite like Sevrin working his farm?”  
  
Baatar tore her arm out of Xomni’to’s grip and spat on the ground. “Shitebird. Fucker deserves a shiv in ‘is sides and a stomp to the neck, no more.”  
  
“Well, he is no longer our problem,” Kanna sighed, shrugging. “Come on then. We can still deliver this cart to La Thagran.”  
  
“Hope Sevrin trips on a fuckin’ stump an’ breaks ‘is fuckin’ neck,” Baatar muttered as she got behind the cart once more.  
  
“So’s do we all, Baatar, so’s do we all,” Momolk soothed as she patted her sister’s thigh.  
  
The sun had totally set by the time the group arrived at La Thagran; the checkpoint, a set of fortified gates which blocked access to the tunnels that connected Middle and Lower La Noscea, were lightly manned, though there were enough torches and guards to make the space feel more than safe compared to the darkness beyond.  
  
“Ho there!” shouted a hyuran Yellowjacket. “Who comes?”  
  
“Just some adventurers,” Kanna shouted back as they approached. “We come on behalf of Staelwyrn of the Summerford Farms! Will you be Ossine?”  
  
“Aye, I am! Oh, will ye - and you’ve a cart’a oranges? Yer a tad late,” the man said, walking up to the group.  
  
“Apologies,” Momolk answered as the man looked down to meet her gaze. “There were a problem - goblins - but they’ll be trouble no more.”  
  
“Ahh - I see. Wells, then, thanks fer the delivery - here,” Ossine said, pulling a pouch of gil from his belt and tossing it to Kanna. “Send my regards t’Staelwyrn!”  
  
“We shall. Thank you,” Kanna said, bowing.  
  
So it was that the group returned to Summerford Farms in the pitch-black of true night; when they arrived the farmers - and Staelwyrn - were sitting around a campfire at the base of the spiral hill, singing several sea shanties at once and drinking tankards of ale.  
  
“Oho! Our adventurers return!” Staelwyrn shouted, getting up to greet the returning group. “We heard back from Sevrin’s mates - they’ll be recoverin’ from their little ordeal up in the farmhouse, they will. How fares Sevrin?”  
  
“He ran,” Xomni’to offered, shrugging as Baatar tossed Sevrin’s axe to the ground with a scowl.  
  
“Ah, piss. Well...I can’t say I’s rightly sad to hear such, though - watch yer backs. There’s a man who’s as cowardly as he is sneaky.”  
  
“Oh, and your gil from Ossine,” Kanna said, throwing the gil-laden pouch to Staelwyrn; he caught it with a grin.  
  
“Aha! The gift I’ve been wantin’! Well, Kanna, Momolk, Xomni’to, Baatar - I must say it’s been a right boon havin’ you lot ‘round, y’know,” Staelwyrn said cheerfully. “If it suits ye, I’ll nip down tomorrow to Limsa - I’ll be droppin’ off some goods to the Bismarck, and I’ll stop by the Rising Loaves ‘round noon, I thinks.”  
  
“Oi, that’ll be the thing - come has a drink, maybe pays us a lil’ gil?” Baatar offered eagerly.  
  
“A solid plan, that’ll be. Can I be offerin’ ye lot a drink?” Staelwyrn said, jerking his head back at an ale-cask which sat by the campfire.  
  
The group looked at each other - tired and worn from the day’s work.  
  
Baatar thought for a moment.  
  
Realized she felt, for the first time in a long time, content.  
  
“Nah, no needs - we’ll ‘port back to Limsa, if that’ll be fine with ye.”  
  
“Well, no problems, then - I’ll sees you lot next sun!”  
  
“We shall take our leave, then,” Kanna said, bowing deeply.  
  
And with that, the four of them began to draw in aether, felt for the massive aetheric signal of Limsa Lominsa’s aetheryte, and with a  _whoosh_  winked out of sight.

 

The Aetheryte Plaza in Limsa Lominsa was well lit; the group was deposited not far from the centre of the plaza and, after a moment to recover from the displacement Baatar let out a small cheer, hopping up and down excitedly.

“Weren’t that somethin’! We done a whole day o’ adventurin’, we did!” Baatar exclaimed, a wide, toothy grin upon her face.  
  
“Heh. We did indeed,” Xomni’to noted. “Come on, then - we’ve barely had a thing to eat. I’m famished. Kanna? Will you come with us to the Rising Loaves?”  
  
“I shall,” Kanna replied, nodding.  
  
“A plan, that’ll be! Beer and buuz for all!” Momolk shouted.  
  
The group used the local aetheryte network and teleported to the Fishermans’ Guild, and after a short walk arrived at the Rising Loaves brewery; despite it being nearly eleven in the evening, there were still a handful of patrons nursing tankards of beer and picking away at dumplings. Oyuun and Edward were behind the counter; they waved as the group made their way through the doors.  
  
“Baatar! Xomni! Momo! And Miss Kanna, a pleasure to see you - so, you four went on an adventure, eh?” Oyuun said, walking out from behind the counter to meet the group. She paused, frowned, and sniffed at the air. “Ech. Baatar, you smell odd - and what’s with the stains on your armour and pants?”  
  
“We killed us some goobbues,” Baatar replied matter-of-factly. “Where’s mum?”  
  
“Oh, she’s back at the apartment, no doubt nursing a stiff drink and worrying about how you lot are doing - go on, then! Edward and I will be closing up shop soon - we’ll bring some food. You go check in with Idree!”  
  
Kanna bowed as the other three waved; they set off, walking down the road to the apartments above Terbish’s clinic. Xomni’to unlocked the door, let the group in and locked the door behind him; the door to Idertuuya’s and Terbish’s apartment was open, and the two older Xaela got to their feet when the group appeared in the doorway.  
  
“You’re back!” Idertuuya shouted, standing up and hobbling over to Baatar. “Gods, I was worried about you four,” she said, pulling the entire group into a hug.  
  
“Uh, love ya too, mums, but now you’ll have to be washin’ yer clothes,” Baatar muttered.  
  
“Nhaama and the Twelve, Baatar,” Terbish said, frowning, “you’re covered in bloodstains! Are you alright?”  
  
“Aye, fine - oh, what a day we’s had!” Baatar exclaimed.  
  
“Well, you lot go get yourselves cleaned up, have a short soak, then,” Idertuuya said, shooing them away. “Kanna, I’ve a set of robes that’ll fit you better than Baatar’s - I think I’ll be a tad shorter than her, if only by a little. I’ll fetch that for you, if that’ll be fine.”  
  
“It will. Thank you, Lady Idertuuya,” Kanna replied, bowing as Idertuuya hobbled off toward her own bedroom.  
  
“I’ll take the upstairs bathroom,” Xomni’to noted, heading into the room he, Momolk and Baatar shared; he returned with a clean change of clothes for the three, tossed them their clothes and left.  
  
Baatar led the girls into the bathing room and stripped out of her plate armour as Momolk and Kanna disrobed; she checked the fire-crystal heater in the shower lines, and, satisfied that they were mostly full, pulled the levers for the showers; she scrubbed herself down quickly, finishing before Kanna and Momolk, and got to work cleaning the grime and gore from her armour while the other two finished cleaning themselves. Idertuuya popped the door open a minute or so later, sliding a set of robes into the bathing room, and so it was that fifteen minutes later the three women emerged, clean and refreshed, though tired from the day’s work. Clad in their hempen robes - Kanna’s only being somewhat ill-fitting - they rejoined Idertuuya, Terbish and Xomni’to, sitting at the dining table where Idertuuya had laid out several cups of tea.  
  
“So, then,” Idertuuya said nervously, clapping her hands together as the group sat down. “How was your first day of adventuring?”  
  
“Oh, it were  _great_ ,” Baatar said eagerly, her tail thumping as it hit the back of her chair. “Right, so we mets Staelwyrn, then we’s gone lookin’ for some kidnappers - then there were a trap! Did ye know Xomni and Momo can see aether?”  
  
“I - hold on, that’s not possible. How do you see aether?” Terbish asked, scratching his horns.  
  
“Twelve! Ye just...do,” Momolk replied, throwing her hands up in frustration as she wobbled on the cushions she used to sit at table-height. “Buncha - looks, just be gettin’ on with th’stoy!”  
  
“Uh, right, then we done killed, like, a half-dozen goobbues,” Baatar continued, “and I chopped two t’bits! Then,” she said, ignoring the growing look of confusion and concern on her mother’s face, “we hads us a vision!”  
  
“What.” Idertuuya rubbed at her brow and sighed. “What in the Twelve are you talking about? Like...like one of your visions, Kanna?”  
  
“N - no. This...this was an odd sort of thing - very queer - I shall explain as best I can,” Kanna said after a moment. “We felled the goobbues, yes, and then, uh, Baatar dug a crystal of some sort out of the skull of one of the beasts. Then...then we had a vision of a great, towering cystal? It called itself Hyadaleyn, said that we...we had to claim more such crystals, and - and we saw several other people shrouded in light.”  
  
“Aye, but we recognized two! Valere’n Cherantai, from Gridania!” Momolk noted, nodding excitedly. “Somethin’ ‘bout shinin’ light on all creation, or summat.”  
  
“Rights. Then we wakes up - oh, shite, right, there were some rude-as-shite woman who were all cryptic - anyhows, then we helps Staelwyrn find ‘is sailors, and then some’ve ‘em gots themselves kidnapped by goblins, so we killed’em too. Then we came ‘ome,” Baatar finished, nodding proudly to herself.  
  
Idertuuya and Terbish looked at one another slowly.  
  
“You know,” Idertuuya said, shaking her head, “I feel like you...going into detail about your day’s adventure, adding context to your very brief and very excited summary, would do little to illuminate what actually happened.”  
  
“It was queer,” Xomni’to said, “but as far as a day’s work could go, I thought it went alright.”  
  
“You need not worry, Lady Kha,” Kanna said, smirking. “Your daughter may indeed be a warrior at heart, but we survived the day with little more than scratches.”  
  
“Aye. It were you, Kanna, what got dinged the worst - honestly I were surprised that we hadn’t had to be diggin’ Baatar’s sorry arse outt’ve the fire,” Momolk sniggered.  
  
“Oi, I dids just fine, no?” Baatar shot back.  
  
“Well, you all seem to be well enough to be bickering as usual” Terbish replied, breathing a sigh of relief. “Now that’s a good sign if I’ve seen one.”  
  
“Anyroads, Staelwyrn’’ll be comin’ t’town t’morrow,” Baatar said, drinking her cup of tea and rolling her eyes. “Says he’ll be by the brewery ‘round noon, he will - payment, an’ maybe s’more work if he can be findin’ it.”  
  
“Well, there you go,” Idertuuya said with a smile. “Look at you - already making connections. Though I must admit I’m still confused about the goobbues.”  
  
“Aye, an’ so’m I,” Edward said, barreling through the door with a cask of cool-beer in his arms. “Oi, Oyuun ‘n I put wagers on what that bloodstains were on yer armour - I says it were monster blood, and Oyuun said it was people blood.”  
  
“It weren’t people!” Baatar shouted as Oyuun followed Edward in. “It were goobbue! I says so!”  
  
“Well it wouldn’t be the first time you’d lied about something to do with violence,” Oyuun scoffed as she set down a tray of dumplings.  
  
“Oi, oi! I done no lies t’day,” Baatar replied proudly, snatching a dumpling and jamming it into her mouth.  
  
“Aye, that’ll cover the violence, but ye did threaten to be shootin’ a man’s knees out,” Momolk noted dryly.  
  
“You did  _what_?” Idertuuya shouted.  
  
“For context,” Xomni’to interjected, raising his hands, “Baatarsaikhan was justified - more or less - in doing so. It was a threat to get a man to remain in his place while we rescued the friends he betrayed.”  
  
“I shoulda done the thing,” Baatar managed through a mouthful of food. “Bastard ran off anyhows.”  
  
“But you  _did_  threaten a man with a sawn-off shot-gun,” Kanna pressed.  
  
“Aye,” Baatar replied calmly. “Threatened to be slittin’ ‘is arsehole, too.”  
  
Edward laughed as he fetched some tankards from the kitchen cabinets and began filling them from the cask he’d brought. “Ahh, the good ol’ brand o’ ‘Baatar Diplomacy’, eh? Works like a charm, it does.”  
  
“Wot, I were justified in me doin’ so,” Baatar said, scowling. “Ye knows what, I’ll be off t’bed. I’ll not sit ‘ere an’ take yer tongue-lashin’s for a good day’s work.”  
  
“Oh?” Oyuun asked, surprised. “Not even a beer?”  
  
“Naw. Right tired, I am. I’ll fetch me a glass’a water and be off - I’ll sees ya tomorrow, Kanna,” Baatar said, fetching a jug of water from the icebox and heading to her room. “Night, Uncle Terbish, Mums, Oyuun ‘n Ed!”  
  
The group watched Baatar disappear into the shared bedroom, watched the door close, turned to each other in silence.  
  
“Did you know,” Xomni’to said quietly, “that Baatar turned down an offer of ale from Staelwyrn before we came home?”  
  
“And she’s not takin’ drink ‘fore bed?” Momolk muttered.  
  
“Maybe adventuring is just what Baatar needed,” Idertuuya offered as Edward handed her a tankard.  
  
“I do not think I can recall a time when I have seen Baatarsaikhan refuse a drink - let alone twice,” Kanna noted. “This day has been queer. Very queer indeed.”  
  
  


* * *

  
Baatar dreamed, that night, of her in the city of Garlemald, slaying whoever raised arms against her and setting every house, every building ablaze.  
  
  
The old, wizened Emperor of Garlemald was no match for her axe.  
  
  
She took his head, speared it upon the sharpened point of her weapon and raised it aloft, so that Nhaama herself could see the blood spilled in her name.  
  
  


* * *

  
**5TH SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON  
YEAR 5 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA  
Limsa Lominsa**  
  
  
“Oi, ye nut, wake yerself ‘n stop droolin’!”  
  
“Wot?” Baatar blinked, then swore as Momolk, fully dressed and sitting on her bed, across from Baatar’s, tossed a stuffed coeurl toy at her. “Oi, stoppit!”  
  
“Well then gets up!” Momolk shouted, throwing another toy - this one a stuffed bear. “It’ll be nearly eleven, it will. Xomni an’ Kanna’ll be downstairs already, all dressed an’ shite. Come on!”  
  
“Fuck off, I’m up!” Baatar caught the next incoming plushie and hurled it back at Momolk; the lalafell simply slid off her bed and under the projectile, shaking her head.  
  
“Ye can’t throw fer shite,” Momolk sniggered as she scampered out of the room.  
  
“And yer a bitch! Ahh, shite,” Baatar muttered to herself. “Now what were I dreamin’ ‘bout? That were something fine, I thinks.” She got out of bed and equipped herself for another hard day of adventuring - cuirass, boots and gauntlets - then grabbed her axe, which was leaning on the head of her bead before slinging it over her back. She checked her pouches, made sure she had her two vials of potions, as well as portions of shot and powder for her guns, then holstered her sawn-offs and made her way downstairs. Terbish was manning the cashier of his clinic, and he smiled as Baatar came through the stairwell doorway.  
  
“A late morning t’you, Baatarsaikhan,” Terbish said warmly, looking up from a pile of herbs he was crushing in a mortar. “Your siblings - and Miss Minamoto - are outside waiting for you.”  
  
“Thanks t’ye, Uncle.”  
  
“No trouble. And be safe, alright?”  
  
“I’ll do so,” Baatar said cheerfully, heading outside into the midday sun. Xomni’to, Momolk and Kanna were standing off in the distance to the left, closer to the brewery; Baatar jogged over, and scratched at her horns as she met the other three, who were all wearing their adventuring garb.  
  
“Baatar! I see you deign us with your presence,” Kanna said dryly. “I had thought we might suspend our adventuring for the day, such that you could get a proper sun’s rest.”  
  
“Shut it,” Baatar replied with a smile. “So? What’ll be the plan, then?”  
  
“Staelwyrn passed us by a few minutes ago - he said he had good and bad news,” Xomni’to noted, frowning slightly. “Said he’d tell us once we were all there, though.”  
  
“Aye. He looked right pissed, ‘e did,” Momolk added.  
  
“Well,” Baatar said slowly, “best we be findin’ out the trouble, I ‘spose.”  
  
The Rising Loaves was, as usual during lunch time, packed with patrons; Baatar and the others had to wedge their way past the line of customers snaking out of the door. Oyuun, Edward and Idree were manning the coin-boxes, and waved at the group before returning to their work; Staelwyrn shouted and beckoned at the group from a table in the dining area.  
  
“So,” Baatar said, sitting down with the others at Staelwyrn’s table, “how d’ye fare this sun, eh?”  
  
“Eh, afternoon t’ye, Kanna, Baatar, Momolk, Xomni,” Staelwyrn said sourly, scratching at his beard. “It’ll be fine - ah, first, yer payment.” He drew a large sack of gil from his tunic and placed it on the table. “Ah, I brought eight thousand gil wi’ me - will that be fine? If ye wants more, I can be fetchin’ more,” Staelwyrn muttered sheepishly. “I...forgots to be bringin’ more, and I spent a bit at the Bismarck, ehe.”  
  
“It’ll be no trouble - two thousand gil’ll be ‘nuff fer what we did, I thinks,” Momolk replied, standing up on her higher-chair and counting out the coins. “No worries.”  
  
“Aye, Kanna - ye want some’ve me coin? I’s no need for’t,” Baatar asked.  
  
“I - well - I shall not say no,” Kanna said with a slow nod. “Perhaps a quarter? I am attempting to find an apartment of my own.”  
  
“Aye, ye can have...however much’s a quarter ‘a me share,” Baatar agreed.  
  
“So, that’s the good news,” Xomni’to continue as Momolk shoved the coins back in the bag. “What’s the bad?”  
  
“Ah, piss. So...me’n the folks, we got right plastered the night last,” Staelwyrn explained, “an’ it were...past midnight, methinks, when we was jus’ windin’ down. Then, outta fuckin’ nowhere, these damned pirate-lookin’ folks came swoopin’ in from th’shadows, and they stole our damn tools!”  
  
“All of them?” Kanna asked.  
  
“Naw, they mades off with a crate or two - ‘s’not like we’s got no tools or nothin’,” Staelwyrn groused, “but those were worth a pretty gil, they were.” He sighed, and took another swig of beer. “We was too drunk to be stoppin’ the bastards, aye, but I done recognized the leader ‘o the bunch - if ye needs a name, I gots it. Captain Petyr “Pigeon-toes” Hooper, that’ll be the man’s name. Hyuran, fair-skinned, black ‘air - ‘es a big, nasty scar what goes from ‘neath ‘is left eye, down-like, t’is mouth.”  
  
“Pigeontoes? The fuck kinda name’s that?” Baatar snorted.  
  
“Aye, it’ll be ‘cause ‘e lost some’ve ‘is toes - he were a fierce pirate, last I heard’ve ‘im. Dunno why he’s gone ‘n stole me fuckin’ farm-tools, though.”  
  
“Have you any idea where Captain Hooper may be? If he is indeed a Captain, and a...privateer, no less, then he must be known to the Maelstrom,” Kanna offered.  
  
“Well ‘nuff, then - I’ll be here fer a few more bells, ‘least while I has some time off fer once. If ye finds a thing, come back and check if I’ll be here - otherwise I’ll be at th’farm, prolly.”  
  
“Very well. We shall return shortly, then,” Kanna replied as the group got up, while Momolk scrambled down from her raised chair.  
  
“Hold, eh? I’ll be tossin’ this sack’a gil’n the strongbox. Be back in a second,” Momolk said, clutching Staelwyrn’s payment like a swaddled babe as she jogged off into the rear of the brewery; she returned a few minutes later, grinning. “Right! Off we go!”  
  
The group made their way over to the closest aetheryte station - the one outside the Fishermans’ Guild - which lay about five minutes of walking away from the brewery; they teleported up to the Aftcastle, then walked across the bridge that led to Maelstrom Command. The long front desk was staffed by several Maelstrom personnel; Baatar vaguely recognized a few of them until she caught sight of R'ashaht Rhiki standing near the doorway to the offices.  
  
“Oi! R’ashaht!” Baatar shouted as they neared the front desk.  
  
“Who - oh, Baatarsaikhan!” R’ashaht said, black ears and tail twitching in surprise. “And the Molkohs - good afternoon! Not getting into trouble, I hope? And - ah, Miss Minamoto of the Bismarck, yes?”  
  
“Yes - I am afraid I do not know you, ma’am,” Kanna said, bowing deeply. “Kanna Minamoto, at your service.”  
  
“Ah, right - Lieutenant-Commander R’ashaht Rhiki. A pleasure to meet you, Kanna - I’m a fan of your raw-fish,” the black-haired Miqo’te woman said with a curt nod. “So? What can I do for you four?”  
  
“Hey, ye knows a fellow by th’name o’ Cap’n Petyr Hooper?” Baatar asked.  
  
“Pigeontoes? Yes, yes, I do,” R’ashaht replied sourly. “He was the captain of a ship called the  _Seafang_  - a right bastard of a pirate, for sure.”  
  
“Ye says ‘was’ a captain,” Momolk noted. “He not so these suns?”  
  
“Not since three suns ago, no. Idiot kept on firin’ at Lominsan ships, stealin’ from vessels flyin’ Eorzean colours,” R’ashaht spat. “Arsehole prolly thought it’d be a fine, easy thing, breaking code, instead ‘o troubling himself with finding an’ fighting Garleans. He stopped in Limsa to dock three suns prior, and we took his ship, stripped him’n his crew of arms an’ put his name on the blacklist. No shipwright or blacksmith in town’ll sell to the man, that’ll be certain - he and his mates all have a whorl-shaped crew-mark on their necks, aye.”  
  
“Odd. See, we just spoke with Master Staelwyrn, of the Summerford Farms,” Xomni’to explained, “and he swears that Captain Hooper and his old crew stole a bunch of his farming tools the night last.”  
  
“I - what a queer thing to do,” R’ashaht muttered. “Well, I know our scouts and the Yellowjackets have said they’ve seen Petyr’s men skulking around Middle La Noscea, but we’ve no idea what they’re doing. Does Staelwyrn want his tools back or summat?”  
  
“Yeah, that’ll be so,” Baatar answered. “Thanks fer the help, R’ashaht - we’ll go’n find the shites, if we’ve any luck.”  
  
“Well, stay safe, and keep an eye out,” R’ashaht shouted as the group began walking back to the Aftcastle aethershard.  
  
Once they returned to the brewery, they explained the situation to Staelwyrn; the old roegadyn simply sighed upon hearing the news.  
  
“Well, it’ll be fine, then, knowin’ that the bastards are lurkin’ ‘round Middle La Noscea, but that don’t help me none,” he said sourly.  
  
“That is what we are here for,” Kanna reassured him. “We shall find your tools, and, gods willing, return them to you.”  
  
“Aye. I’ll see t’it that yer compensated for yer troubles - ‘specially if ye gots to be fightin’ folks for’em.” Staelwyrn sighed again, and slammed his head into the table with a loud thunk. “Piss. I’ll prolly have me ano’er drink or so, then head back t’the farm - if ye finds the tools, bring’em back, a’right?”  
  
“We’ll do the thing. Come on! We’s some pirates to be roughin’ up, we do!” Baatar exclaimed as the group set out.  
  
Like the sun before, the group left the city via the Zephyr Gate; once they were clear of the city limits and firmly in the greenery of Middle La Noscea, Momolk pulled her map of the area out and unrolled it as the others knelt to see it.  
  
“So. We have been quite thoroughly through the area surrounding the Seasong Grotto, as well as all the path from Summerford through to La Thagran,” Kanna said, tracing a finger from the farm at the far right of the map to the bottom right corner. “Perhaps we ought to start by checking the other side of the Agelyss River? That shall allow us to begin not far from the Seasong Grotto - and we can sweep the area.”  
  
“Sounds fine t’me,” Baatar agreed. The others got to their feet while Momolk put the map back in her satchel, and the group set off towards river which lay just beyond the Summerford Farms and Seasong Grotto; in short order, they arrived at the east end of the river, where it dropped down to the waters around Limsa Lominsa, and the group began carefully searching the riverside for any tracks or signs of the pirates. The search, luckily, didn’t take long; not far from the riverside opposite of the Seasong Grotto, Momolk managed to find a well-concealed tunnel beneath a large set of bushes; the group clustered around it as Baatar pulled the bushes aside. The tunnel lay at a steep, though certainly not-unmanageable angle; Baatar tested it with her foot, then nodded.  
  
“I”ll go first, eh?” She began inching down the tunnel; once she’d made it about two dozen paces, she gestured for the others to follow. They walked as quietly as they could down the tunnel until, about a minute later, they arrived at a turn in the path; as they approached, the repeated thunk-thunk-thunk of a hammer striking metal began to echo up the tunnel.  
  
“Forge?” Momolk whispered.  
  
Baatar shrugged and peered around the corner of the bend; she whipped back a moment later. “Long tunnel,” she hissed, “big cave at th’end. There’ll be...a dozen or so o’ pirates down there.”  
  
“They part of Hooper’s crew?” Xomni’to asked.  
  
“Couldn’t see.”  
  
“Lemme,” Momolk muttered. She clambered around Baatar’s feet and fed some aether into her monocle. “Aye, that’ll be them - they gots the crew mark, all’ve them. Dozen or so - looks to me likes they’ll be smeltin’ the bigger’ve Staelwyrn’s tools to make axes an’ such.”  
  
“Shite. Ye thinks they’ll be plannin’ somethin’?” Baatar said.  
  
“I...yup. They’re startin’ on the last’ve their tools, I thinks,” Momolk answered. “All but two’ve ‘em ‘ave their new axes - an’ they look right pissed, they do. An’ - ah, shite, that’ll be a map’ve the docks on their table - I thinks...I thinks they’ll be plannin’ a raid to be getting their ship back or summat.”  
  
“If...if this is true, we should return to the Maelstrom at once,” Kanna whispered.  
  
“Aye,” Xomni’to agreed.  
  
“Right then.” Baatar and the others began drawing in aether; she felt for the beacon of Limsa Lominsa and was about to begin the teleport when a glint from the front of the tunnel caught her eye; she shouted, throwing Xomni’to to the ground. A rusted dagger slammed into the cave wall where Xomni’to’s stomach would have been; he yelped in surprise as the others stopped their teleports, and Baatar screamed in fury as she drew a blunderbuss, firing a cloud of lead shot into their assailant. “INTO THE CAVE! KANNA - WATCH THE BACK FER NOW!”  
  
Baatar holstered her shot-gun, and drew her second while unslinging her axe; she was the first spotted by the dozen or so pirates sitting within the cave, and the one closest - a squat, bearded lalafell - drew his axe and made full speed towards her. With a crack-thoom Baatar’s blunderbuss sent the man into the ground with a spray of blood, and she holstered her gun and held her axe in both hands.  
  
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YE?” yelled a black-haired man from the back of the cave.  
  
“You Pigeontoes?” Baatar shouted back.  
  
“Well, lassy, now that ye’ve killed a man’ve mine - two, I wager from that first shot,” the man said, pulling a long dagger from his tunic, “I thinks there’ll be no harm in sayin’ so. Aye, I’ll be Cap’n Petyr Pigeontoes Hooper - and you, miss, we’s gonna have  _fun_  with that lil' tail'a yers, and yer scaly arse.”  
  
“Heh.” Baatar spat on the ground, glancing back at Momolk and Xomni’to, who were both busy summoning their Carbuncles. “That so, ye limp-dick? Why don’t ye come ‘ere and try’t?”  
  
“Hold yer tongue, wench - if ye shut yer mouth and lay down all womanly-like right now, we’ll leave ye bruised when we’s done with ye - but livin’, lass,” Petyr snarled.  
  
“Summoned,” Xomni’to whispered, patting the cave wall just loudly enough for Baatar to hear. “Guns ready, too.”  
  
“Trapped the cave mouth. We’re safe for now,” Kanna added.  
  
Baatar nodded slightly before smirking at Captain Hooper. “Aye, that so? Well, way I sees it - only a right, floppy dong of a man like yous has pride in a name like ‘Pigeontoes’ - NOW!”  
  
Xomni’to stepped out into the cave opening and fired all six of his pistols, downing seven of the pirates thanks to a shot which pierced the skull of one man and tore through the neck of another. Baatar roared and charged forward, axe raised, while Momolk and Xomni’to - and their two Carbuncles - got to work firing precisely-aimed poison-spells at each pirate, leaving them howling and screeching in pain. Baatar took advantage of this and swung her axe at one of the pirates, burying it in his neck before lunging backwards, sending the pirate falling forward as he bled to death. Kanna charged in next, sword cutting furious strokes into the unprepared foe she faced; she parried attacks from multiple attackers before ducking an incoming blow and stabbing a man in the eye, drawing the blade out and slicing it across the neck of another; a blow came towards her and Kanna managed to escape with a graze upon her arm, lunging backwards and hissing in pain.  
  
  
Baatar  _seethed_.  
  
  
She screamed a furious cry and charged forward, uppercutting the axe directly between the legs of the man who attacked Kanna; he howled from the poisons flooding through him, the unaspected aether ripping holes in his armour and the horrid tide of blood streaming from his nethers.  
  
And in an instant, the group of four stood before Captain Hooper, his men dying on the floor as they succumbed to their wounds and their toxins.  
  
“You _bitch_ ,” Petyr spat, grabbing an axe from one of his fallen crew. “You’ll PAY!”  
  
Baatar simply screamed and charged at him; she parried three horizontal strikes before using the haft of her axe to batter the weapon out of Petyr’s hands; she followed that with a metal-booted kick to his testicles, then lunged forward as he flinched, drew her shoulder-blade and shoved the knife into his throat. Petyr fell backwards onto his back, grasping at the blade, eyes frantic and wide, tears falling from his eyes as Baatar stepped forward, stomped on his head and tore the knife from his throat.  
  
There was no noise for a moment, save for the gurgling gasps from the pirates, and Petry’s desperate fumbling and twitching as he bled out on the floor.  
  
“Well,” Baatar said sourly, wiping the knife on Petyr’s pants and sheathing it, “that coulda gone better. Hows the fuck we got ambushed?”  
  
“We weren’t careful - didn’t watch our backs,” Xomni’to growled, scowling at the bodies on the floor. “Bastards had a patrol out, and we didn’t notice.”  
  
“Aye, an’ if Baatar hadn’t thrown y’on the ground, brother, ye’d have a hole in yer skull,” Momolk spat. “That were too fuckin’ close. Maybe we’s ought to have our Protect-barriers up ‘fore we go out, next round.”  
  
“Shite. Have to be more careful-like the next time,” Baatar groused as she walked back over to Kanna - who was eyeing the bodies, and the other three in the group warily. “Yer arm alright? It’ll be bleedin’ a little.”  
  
“You killed...you killed three, four men, like that,” Kanna said, eyes searching Baatar’s face as Momolk brought up her Carbuncle to heal Kanna’s wound.  
  
“Aye - wot, ye thinks I’d be layin’ down for’em?” Baatar replied, perplexed.  
  
“No - I am not - you had every right to defend yourself. But...you do not seem troubled.”  
  
“By wot?” Baatar replied, returning to Petyr’s corpse to search his pockets.  
  
“You - these were no pests or the like,” Kanna said, shaking her head. “Pirates, criminals or no - you slew men for the first time, and it does you no trouble?”  
  
“Naww,” Baatar answered, pulling a pair of gaudy rings from Petyr’s fingers and spitting on his body. “Shite-stains like these - it’ll be a service, it will, t’be killin’ these fuckers.”  
  
“Aye,” Momolk added, as she walked over to the forge and the partially-emptied crate of farming tools nearby. “Oi, lookit,” Momolk said, climbing onto the small table by the forge. “They were plannin’ to be stealin’ their ship back!”  
  
“Hmm. I do wonder, though, if they would have been successful,” Xomni’to mused, reloading his pistols. “Personally, I doubt they’d be doing the thing - Maelstrom doesn’t mess around, not with impounded ships.”  
  
“I -  _kami_  - gods! You three! You show nothing, no feeling, no concern?” Kanna said, her voice rising. “Look at you, Baatar - covered in the blood of a man you - you _finished off_  on the ground, and you do not even flinch?”  
  
“Wot the fuck y’on ‘bout, Kanna? Aye, I didn’t be flinchin’ - I don’t give a chocobo shite ‘bout what happens to this sack’a dicks,” Baatar replied, gesturing around the cavern. “Sod’em.”  
  
“Baatar, that is  _not_  normal,” Kanna said gravely. “That is not normal for any of you!”  
  
“I fail to see the issue,” Xomni’to replied, crossing his arms. “We killed goblins yesterday, and you had no concerns about that.”  
  
“I - those were beastmen! These were people! Hyurs, lalafell, roegadyn, elezen - dead! Slain without a second thought or care.”  
  
“Didn’t you be killin’ a man, eh?” Momolk shot back, scowling. “Ye fuckin’ sliced a man’s throat fer stealin’ yer blade - justified, aye, but we didn’t be gettin’ up yer arse ‘bout it.”  
  
“Momolk, I was part of the  _Sekisegumi_. I enforced the law, killed thieves, murderers, bandits,” Kanna answered.  
  
“Aye, like we done!” Baatar exclaimed cheerfully. “What’ll be the problem, eh?”  
  
“Baatarsaikhan of Kha, when I slew my first foe - my first dozen, nay, my first score of men,” Kanna said in a near-whisper, “I nearly threw up each time. I had  _nightmares_  about the men I killed - the experience was terrible enough, Baatar, that I still remember those faces, the looks of those men as they died. Do you understand, Baatar?”  
  
“Nope,” Baatar answered, scratching her head with a blood-spattered gauntlet. “Ye lost me.”  
  
“I - please, I am being serious. This...the three of you...this is not okay,” Kanna said after a long pause. “You should not allow the taking of life to come so easily for you - not of your fellow Spoken, at the very least. That way lies ruin. The path to those who seek death and blood for its own sake.”  
  
“Wot, like, you thinks I’ll be killin’ sods ‘cause I’s good at’t?” Baatar scoffed. “Naw, Kanna! I’s find me a pirate who threatens to be doin’ rape or the like, I fuckin’ kill ‘im, no problem. Fuckit. Why’s I give a shite ‘bout any’a these arseholes, eh?”  
  
“That is not my point, and you know it.”  
  
“Kanna, I think we do understand what you’ll be saying,” Xomni’to noted, “but frankly I don’t think the three of us, well, particularly cared about these pirates. Perhaps, then, if we were fighting...some more upstanding folks. Soldiers, or mercenaries, or something. Perhaps, then, yes, you would be right to be worried about us.”  
  
“Aye. Lookit these shites,” Momolk agreed, kicking one of the now-dead pirates in the head.  
  
“I - I - fine. Fine. I suppose, then. Still, I am not...comfortable with your behaviours,” Kanna muttered. “I shall return to the tunnel’s front and remove my knife-trap, such that we may take our leave of the place.”  
  
“A’right - oi, Momolk, Xomni, watch where I goes - I”ll take the crate, aye?” Baatar asked, squatting down and grunting as she lifted the partially-empty crate of farming tools up.  
  
“Heh, no trouble - let’s be gettin’ this shite t’Staelwyrn!” Momolk shouted as the group left the tunnel.  
  
The walk from the side of the river back to Summerford Farms took about a half-bell; Staelwyrn saw them coming from the top of the spiral-hill, and met the group at the outskirts of the farm, eyes widening in shock at the long gash that ran up Kanna’s sleeve and Baatar’s blood-covered form.  
  
“Gods, you - are you lot alright?” Staelwyrn asked, taking the crate from Baatar and handing it to one of the nearby farmhands.  
  
“Aye, fine!” Baatar replied cheerfully. “Good Cap’n Hooper’s no more - sod were plannin’ t’be stealin’ ‘is ship back, an’ usin’ yer tools to be makin’ axes for hisself and his mates.”  
  
“Pissant,” Staelwyrn spat. “And ye killed the lot’ve ‘em?”  
  
“We did,” Xomni’to answered, nodding. “Came a little close - they got the drop on us with a roving patrolman, but Baatar was quick enough to save me from a bullet to the gut.”  
  
“Well, that’ll be no love lost twixt me ‘n that right penis of a man, aye,” Staelwyrn said happily. “Ye done a favour to me’n the Maelstrom, that’ll be fer certain. ‘Ere,’ Staelwyrn said, beckoning for the adventurers to follow; he lead them back up to the farmhouse, motioned for them to wait outside and popped out not long after with a fat sack of coins. “”Ere, that’ll be fifteen thousand gil, there.”  
  
“Oi, oi, ye don’t need t’be emptyin’ yer coffers for us,” Baatar said, aghast. “Put that shite back!”  
  
“Aye, me one true love’ll be gil, but...that’ll be a tad much, eh?” Momolk said.  
  
“Naw, I insists - ye fights a buncha pirates to be fetchin’ me fuckin’ tools. That’ll be a load’a shite - jus’ be takin the thing, ‘fore I thinks otherwise, ken?” Staelwyrn said.  
  
“Then we shall,” Kanna replied, bowing deeply. “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Thanks is mine, Miss Kanna.” Staelwyrn sighed, and shook his head. “Well, ye might as well be getting back to Limsa - I’s no work for ye, ‘less ye like huntin’ pests, or diggin’ through auroch shite fer fertilizer.”  
  
“I think we will take our leave, then,” Xomni’to said, nodding slightly.  
  
“A fine fuckin’ day indeed,” Baatar muttered as they made their way to the foot of the hill. “Shite. Why’s I not do adventurin’ before? Kill arseholes, make gil. Fuck me, I could be doin’ this for a livin’, I wager.”  
  
“‘Cause yer a thick-skulled dimwit, tha’s why,” Momolk sniggered as Baatar rolled her eyes.  
  
“Real fuckin’ original, that one. Come on - we shoulds prolly be gettin’ t’the Maelstrom, see if we can’t be tellin’ them what’s happened, eh?”  
  
Kanna said nothing as they began to draw aether to return to Limsa Lominsa.

The group of four reappeared in Limsa Lominsa moments later; they drew some attention as they teleported into the Aetheryte Plaza, but save for a few uneasy glances at Baatar’s bloodstained armour nobody paid them much mind. A quick teleport up to the Aftcastle aetheryte station and a short walk brought them over to the Maelstrom Command building, and R’ashaht Rhiki waved at them as the group crossed the bridge leading to the reception area.  
  
“Ho there,” R’ashaht said, leaving the long, well-staffed reception desk; her ears, which poked out of slits cut in her officers’ cap, twitched as she noticed Baatarsaikhan. “Well,” she said, nodding, “I imagine you had yourselves a little run-in with Pigeontoes?”  
  
“Captain - well, ex-Captain Petry Hooper and his crew won’t be troublin’ the Maelstrom any more,” Xomni’to noted with muted pride. “We found him and his crew in a small tunnel set into the side of the Agelyss - the Seafang’s crewmen were smelting up Staelwyrn’s tools into axes.”  
  
“Aye, an’ they was plannin’ on doin’ a raid or summat,” Baatar added, “so they could be stealin’ back their ship.” She dug Petyr’s rings from a pouch on her belt and handed them over to R’ashaht; she examined them, nodded, then tucked them into her coat pocket. “Had to be killin’ the lot’ve ‘em.”  
  
“Got what he deserved,” R’ashaht snorted. “That cave of theirs - was there anything else in it?”  
  
“There were a simple forge setup, aye, an’ a few tables. Lil’ ‘else besides,” Momolk explained.  
  
“Hmm. Perhaps the Maelstrom - or the Yellowjackets - could use it as a supply station or something.” R’ashaht led the group over to one of the nearby waiting-tables; she pulled a map of Lower La Noscea out of her coat and unfurled it on the table, along with a graphite-stick. “Would one of you be able to mark where you found the cave?”  
  
“Aye, I can be doin’ so,” Momolk said, climbing up onto one of the chairs. She pointed at a spot they’d been to earlier, and nodded. “Round there, that cave’ll be. We had to be movin’ some bushes t’open the tunnel entrance - hard to miss now, I wager.”  
  
“Thank you. I can’t promise you’ll be rewarded for any of this - but I’ll see if I can’t put in a word in my report,” R’ashaht noted as she rolled the map back up. “You’ve done good - very good.”  
  
“Heh - a right proper buncha do-gooders, we’ll be!” Baatar said happily. “Now won’t that be a thing, eh, R’ashaht?”  
  
“Don’t let it get to your head,” R’ashaht snorted. “At most this might get you out of the drunk tank once. Maybe twice.”  
  
“Oi, I’s not been in there fer more than a year,” Baatar replied, scowling.  
  
“I know. Let’s keep that up, please.” R’ashaht smiled and gave the group a lazy salute. “I’ll be back to work, then - keep safe, ‘till sea swallows all.”  
  
“So,” Baatar said, sighing contentedly as the group returned to the Aftcastle and sat down on one of the many benches in the plaza-park, “what’ll we do now, eh? I’ve no desire t’be shovelin’ shite or huntin’ pests fer Staelwyrn.”  
  
“Could call it a day,” Xomni’to offered.  
  
“Ahh, yer right. No need t’be rushin’, eh? We’ve a whole life’ve adventure jus’ waitin’ fer us.” Baatar stretched and yawned slightly. “Hoo. Maybe a nap, eh?”  
  
“We could be checkin’ out stuff at th’guilds, too,” Momolk noted. “Anyhows, Baatar, ye could be testin’ up in the Marauders’ Guild - you’s been puttin’ that off fer ages.”  
  
“Mmm. Maybe I’ll pop’n, check t’see if I can’t be schedulin’ a test or summat,” Baatar said, scratching at her scaly chin in thought. “Fightin’ Wyrnzoen sounds a mite more interestin’ than helpin’ you two do...whatever you does with th’Arcanists, what with checkin’ customs and the like.” Baatar shrugged. “What ‘bout you, Kanna?”  
  
Kanna - who, up until this point, had been silently staring off at the sky - flinched slightly, then stared at Baatar for several seconds in silence.  
  
“Uhhh...Kanna?” Baatar blinked, looked at her siblings - who returned curious expressions.  
  
“Ah. My apologies,” Kanna said distantly. “I shall...I believe I would like to take the day off. It has been some time since I have experienced combat, and I think a day of rest, relaxation and self-reflection will help me better myself in the days to come.”  
  
“A’right, then - so, we can be meetin’ t’morrow, then, t’see what we can be doin’?” Baatar asked.  
  
“That sounds acceptable to me. I shall take my leave, then.” Kanna bowed deeply and set off at a brisk walk off towards the Mizzenmast Inn, whose entrance lay just to the side of the Drowning Wench.  
  
Momolk and Baatar watched Kanna go with a mix of concern and confusion; both looked at one another, and Momolk shrugged.  
  
“Shite,” Momolk muttered, scratching her head. “She don’t sound a’right t’me.”  
  
“Ye thinks the thing what with us bein’ real good at killin’ folks got t’her?” Baatar asked. “I thought she were just bein’ quiet-like.”  
  
“Maybe it’s a cultural thing,” Xomni’to offered quietly. “She seems to have been raised in a place that...how to say, took its official laws seriously. Less codes, more legal sanction.”  
  
“Limsa’s got laws, though,” Baatar replied, frowning.  
  
“Aye, but - well, I’m guessing - Limsa’s brand of justice, maybe, is more rough than she’s used to?” Xomni’to’s ears twitched slightly, and he smiled slightly. “I can recall at least three, four dozen times - probably more - that we saw, ah, ‘Lominsan justice’ being dealt, before any of us reached sixteen years of age.”  
  
“I thinks it’ll be a good system,” Baatar said. “Ye don’t steal, ye don’t slave, ye don’t rape nor kill or whatever. Easy t’remember, y’ask me.” She stretched again, then pat her stomach. “Now, I’ll be wantin’ somethin’ t’eat. You lot hungry?”  
  
“Aye, I could be eatin’ summat,” Momolk said, nodding vigorously.  
  
“Oi. Hows ‘bout we take the day in Ul’dah, eh?” Baatar exclaimed. “Oho, I likes the sound’a that - let’s be goin’!”  
  
“And we’re dropping off our weapons first,” Xomni’to added, jerking his head at Baatar’s holsters. “No guns.”  
  
“Naw, it’s no  _open_  guns,” Baatar corrected. “If I keeps one in me clothes, that’ll be fine.”  
  
“Since when?” Xomnito asked. “When we went last week, the Brass Blades nearly had heart-stop, what with your shot-guns on frank display.”  
  
“You mistake Baatar’s reasoning, brother,” Momolk said, rolling her eyes. “I think she’s meanin’ t’say, if nobody catches her carryin’ the sawn-off, then it’ll be legal.”  
  
Baatar nodded eagerly. “Aye! Who’s cause to be searchin’ me robes, eh? I’s a good woman, no trouble at all.”  
  
“Do I need to remind you about the time you chased a man through half of the city threatening to cut a second arsehole into him?”  
  
“That were ages ago,” Baatar said, waving Xomni’to off. “I’s a changed woman, now. Baatarsaikhan, goodly adventurer, helper of farmers!”  
  
“Bollocks, more like. Come on, let’s be stashin’ yer guns, then,” Momolk said as the three returned to the aetheryte station.  
  
  


* * *

  
“I’ll see you bunch later, then,” Idertuuya said, walking out of the Rising Loaves; she’d been working more or less non-stop at the brewery since five in the morning, and when Edward’s sisters had shown up an hour ago at seven in the evening she was more than happy to let them take over. She took a leisurely pace, taking her time to enjoy the relaxing breeze as she returned to Terbish’s clinic - and paused when she noticed that there was someone in Terbish’s store, sitting with him at one of the counters.  
  
“Oh, Idree, welcome back,” Terbish said as Idertuuya walked through the door to the store.  
  
“Good evening, Idertuuya,” Kanna added, getting up from her stool at the main counter and bowing deeply.  
  
“Oh! Kanna! What a surprise,” Idertuuya said, pulling a stool up next to her; Terbish, who had already set out tea for himself and Kanna, pulled another teacup from beneath the counter and set it on the table.  
  
“Please, allow me,” Kanna offered; she took the teapot and poured for Idertuuya, who tapped her knuckles on the table in thanks.  
  
“Well, I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to be here this evening,” Idertuuya said after draining her teacup. “The kids came by earlier in their casual clothes, and said they were taking the rest of the sun off in Ul’dah after slaying some rather foul pirates - and that you were taking the sun to, ah, self-reflect, or something?”  
  
“Yes,” Kanna replied, nodding. “I - I actually came here to discuss the events which transpired this morning.”  
  
“Mmm.” Terbish nodded sagely, taking a sip of tea. “Kanna said she wanted you to be present to discuss the thing, Idree - so here we are.”  
  
“Well, I’m here,” Idertuuya said with a small frown. “Is something the matter?”  
  
“Matter? I - I am not sure, to be honest.” Kanna paused, and stared into her cup. “Idertuuya, I observed that your children - all of them - carried themselves very well in combat against men today.”  
  
“Ahh, the children had boasted as such, but it is good to hear confirmation from a...less biased source,” Idertuuya said with no small amount of pride. “What troubles you, then, if the fight went well?”  
  
“I was surprised - all of them said that this was their first time slaying others in combat,” Kanna said slowly, “and yet they showed no hesitation in their fighting or killing. Unflinching. Resolved.”  
  
“That...that troubles you?” Terbish said, scratching at his horns. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Kanna.”  
  
“It does not bother you? Xomni’to shot down seven men without so much as a single onze of hesitation. Momolk sent men to the ground with the agonies of poison and war-magic. And Baatarsaikhan finished a wounded man off with knife and boot.” Kanna shook her head slowly. “Mind you, I understand that such things are commendable traits for soldiers, mercenaries and adventurers. But I find myself - perhaps - troubled? Yes, troubled, that your children, who have not known the business of blood like I have, found no fear or hesitation in the dealing of death.”  
  
Idertuuya and Terbish both looked at each other; Terbish shrugged, and Idertuuya sighed.  
  
“I’m not quite sure what to say,” Idertuuya replied after a few seconds’ pause. “You...you approach the matter, as though it is unnatural for my children - Baatarsaikhan in particular - to be in tune with their - gods, I haven’t used this word in many years -  _daichin süns_?”  
  
“Warrior spirit?” Kanna asked.  
  
“The literal meaning of the word, yes,” Terbish answered, “but it is more than one’s martial prowess or desire to fight. It is...it is facing ten enemies as one and showing no hesitation. It is singing war-song when you slay your enemies. It is dying proudly when you are overwhelmed, knowing that you have given all for the Dusk Mother.” The old man shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “It does not even necessarily apply to just fighting, though I am sure many of the old tribes upon the Steppe would...disagree with my interpretation of the term.  _Daichin süns_  for me is pulling a patient from the grip of death itself, spitting in the face of my enemy - disease, instead of soldiers, now.”  
  
“Aye. Terbish has the right of it,” Idertuuya added, nodding vigorously. “I have always raised Baatar to have good warrior spirit - and though Xomni’to and Momolk may not be my first-children, I did my best to teach them the same, too. In times of crisis or threat - no hesitation. No pause. Action.”  
  
Kanna blinked several times, opened her mouth, shut it, paused again.  
  
“The idea does not sit well with you,” Idertuuya said a moment later.  
  
“No, I, I understand the concept,” Kanna replied. “The first two virtues of the samurai code - _giri_  and  _yuuki_. Righteousness of cause and the courage of heroism. I strive to possess such things, in life and in combat - but that is after many years in service to the Sekiseigumi, where it was taught to me, trained, drilled. I mean no insult to you, Idertuuya, but I cannot imagine that you raised your children as though they were to be enforcers of the law, or such.”  
  
“Well, no, I did not, but I won’t lie and say I’m not happy to see my children have such virtues on display,” Idertuuya replied. “I may not have drilled my children like soldiers, but I did my best to instill within them the values with which I was raised as a warrior of the Steppe. Even growing up, of all the children, it was Baatar, Xomni’to and Momolk who showed the most - if any - interest in continuing the Steppe-ways of war, and so I did my best to prepare them for the blood they would no doubt spill.”  
  
Kanna considered this for a long time; nearly two minutes passed before she replied. “I understand, I think. I still have a little trouble accepting it, but perhaps that is simply due to a difference in culture and values. I imagine that the Azim Steppe’s legendary hardships birthed a much more...rugged set of values than the ones I was raised with.”  
  
“A fair point,” Terbish said, smiling. “And correct, as far as I can see. I’d not spend too much worry about the way of these things. If Baatar or Xomni or Momo decide that killing men of foul persuasion is not enough? If their warrior spirit controls them, and not the other way around? Then yes, I would be concerned.”  
  
“But until then,” Idertuuya concluded, “I think you need not worry about my children. Though it is nice to see that you’ve taken enough of a liking to them to carry such worries in the first place,” Idertuuya said with a small chuckle.  
  
“I...they are an interesting bunch. I can imagine far worse fates than travelling with them, wherever it is they end up going,” Kanna said at last.


	12. In The Company Of Adventure

**6TH SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON**   
**YEAR 5 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA**   
**Limsa Lominsa**

 

“Hey, wake up, sister.”

Baatar yawned, stretched and blinked several times to clear the grogginess from her eyes; Xomni’to and Momolk were sitting on Momolk’s bed across from her, fully-dressed with their weapons and their picatrixes hanging from their belts.

“Oi. What’ll be the meanin’ ‘a wakin’ me up?” Baatar groused, scratching her head. “Thought we hads the day free t’be doin’ as we liked?”

"Afraid not, Baatar,” Xomni’to said, shaking his head. “Staelwyrn came by - we’ve trouble again, and with that arsehole Sevrin, no less.”

“Ah, fuck - again? How?” Baatar shouted, getting out of bed. “I swears, next time, I’ll be shootin’ ‘is knees out fer sure.”

“Ye might just be gettin’ that chance, sister,” Momolk informed her gravely.

“He didn’t say much - just that he’d be wantin’ our help. Come on - Staelwyrn and the others’ll be downstairs, when you’re ready.”

“Shite, a’right - I’ll be down quick-like.” Xomni’to nodded as he left the room; once again, Baatar strapped on her gear, checked her pouches and set off downstairs. Terbish’s clinic was empty, and so she exited the building, locking the door behind her.

“OI! SLEEPYHORNS! OE’ER HERE,” Momolk shouted from down the street to the right, within spitting distance of the Fishermans’ Guild’s aetheryte station. “YE FUCKIN AWAKE OR WOT?”

Baatar sighed and jogged over to the group; Staelwyrn was with them, a scowl set into his face.

“Mornin’, Kanna, Staelwyrn,” Baatar offered. “What’ll be the trouble?”

“Sorry to be ruinin’ yer sleep-in,” Staelwyrn spat, “but I gots a problem that needs fixin’ - thanks t’Sevrin, no less.”

“You said as much,” Kanna noted, nodding. “What is the issue?”

“Well, Sevrin came back the sun last - said ‘e were sorry to ‘is old mates, that he wanted to be makin’ it up t’them for leavin’ them as goblin fodder,” Staelwyrn explained. “Said he had a big stash ‘o wines an’ ales, an’ that he’d be sharin’ it with anyfolk who wanted some. Did hisself a big fat apology t’me too, sayin’ that maybe he’d be tryin’ farmin’ again - that he were just real frustrated or summat with the new life.”

“Bollocks, I think,” Baatar muttered.

“I know, I know,” Staelwyrn sighed. “But, well, somethin’ ‘bout the boy - he can’t be older than any’a yous - sets me feelin’ sorry, and so I lets him stay. Anyroads, this early this mornin’ I let Sevrin an’ ‘is mates off to do that drinkin’ or summat - but it’ll be damn near three in th’afternoon, and I says to be back by one.

“Well, if they were indeed partaking in Sevrin’s supposed stash of drink,” Kanna noted dryly, “perhaps they are simply… unable to move from their current position, let us say.”

“Aye,” Staelwyrn replied, rubbing at his beard, “but somethin’ sets me the wrong way ‘bout this. An’ what with you lot already havin’ brought back ‘is mates before, I figures you’d be the best to go ‘bout this - ‘specially if there’s goblins involved or summat again.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I know it’ll not be...serious, aye, but either way I’ll pays you two-thousand gil, flat, whether ye find somethin’ or not.”

“Fair ‘nuff,” Momolk said happily. “Ye comin’ with?”

“‘Fraid not fer now,” Staelwyrn answered. “I’ll be havin’ an aetheryte installed up at the farms - I’ve got meetin’s to be gettin’ to wi’ the Maelstrom an’ some folks from Sharlayan. Ye might try askin’ some folks up’t the farms where Sevrin an’ is mates fucked off to - Grynewyda, she’ll be with th’artisans what’re buildin’ th’aetheryte. Ye can ask’er - she’ll know fer sure, what with her watchin’ the gates an’ all.” He snapped his fingers, and nodded. “Oh, an’ we’s supposed t’be the first place beyond Limsa what gets a public Chocobokeep Station t’day!”

“Oho, those’ll finally be happenin’, eh?” Momolk exclaimed cheerfully. “Too fuckin’ right - right tired, I’ll be, o’ walkin’ everywhere!”

“Hey, the keep just takes us to the farms for now,” Xomni’to scoffed. “You’ll still be walking everywhere else.”

“Shut it. Right then, Staelwyrn - ye don’t need t’be worryin’. We’ll sort this shite out quick-like,” Momolk said, looking up to flash a smile at the roegadyn as she pat him on the leg.

“Thanks - I appreciate it much. Anyroads, I needs t’be off - I’ll be back’t the farms in a few bells. Best’a luck t’ye!” Staelwyrn strolled over to the nearby aetheryte, waited for a few fishers from the guild to use the station, then popped into nothingness.

“So,” Kanna said at last, “we shall be dealing with Ser Sevrin and his ilk once more.”

“Told’ye I shoulda’ shot the bastard,” Baatar spat.

“Perhaps,” Kanna ceded. “But we would be better served with concerning ourselves with the present, I wager.”

“No harm done. Let’s get to the Chocobokeep and head out - if something untoward’s goin’ on, better we figure out where Sevrin is, fast,” Xomni’to said.

The group teleported up to the Aetheryte Plaza and returned to the Zephyr Gate; where before there had stood an archway in front of the bridge housing an inspection station manned by Yellowjacket guards, there was now a new building standing opposite - this one a clean, well-kept stable with a dozen yellow riding-chocobo of various breeds - from giant Destriers for roegadyn riders, all the way to the diminutive Jennets for lalafells. The stable and its accompanying stand was manned by a pair of hyurs dressed in yellow-black tunics, long yellow gauntlets and wearing feathered half-masks styled like the head of one of the giant yellow birds Baatar had dreamed of owning since she was a small child.

“Ho there,” Xomni’to said, approaching the staff. “Is your Chocobokeep station open to the public?”

“Aye, it is,” one of the men said, bowing slightly. “Good timing - we opened to the public this mornin’, though we’ll only be offerin’ rides to the Summerford Farms fer now. That fine with ye?”

“Yes, that will be good,” Kanna answered, staring in awe at the birds. “They are very pretty.”

“‘Aint they, huh? Y’ever ridden one, miss?”

“No, I have not,” Kanna replied. “The tales of the Eorzean ‘horse-bird’ are quite well-known, even in lands as far away as Kugane, though.”

“Well, today’s yer lucky day, miss- a ride t’Summerford’ll cost y’only fifteen gil per soul,” the other attendant explained. “If ye come back in a few suns, we’ll be rentin’ these fine birds out, too - no pricin’ yet, though.”

“Right then,” Baatar said. “So - we’d all be needin’ a ride to Summerford. Sixty gil, aye?”

“Aye, that’ll be so,” the first attendant answered; he held out his hands as Baatar fished out a handful of coins from her coinpurse, and deposited them into a cashbox on the stand. “So, three of ye’ll be more or less Hyur-sized, an’ a lalafell - I’ll have Rounseys an’ a Jennet for ye quick.” The man walked over to the stable and pat led four of the birds out to the group; each one was a bright yellow, and bore a riding saddle. “Now then, there’s little to be said - ye hop on the back, grab ‘hold ‘o the reins, and ye don’t let go. They’ll bring ye to Summerford, no more, no less. Fair?”

“Wonderful,” Kanna breathed, eagerly eying one of the birds. “Yes, more than fair.”

The four mounted the backs of the birds - Kanna with more than a little difficulty - and with a sharp whistle from the attendants the birds were off, setting off at a trot down the bridge as Kanna yelped in surprise and joy.

“Who would have thought!” Kanna shouted as the four of them rode over the bridge and beyond the city. “Such wonder! A bird like a horse - oh, this truly is as fine as the books said!”

“Aye, an’ did yer books say much ‘bout shovellin’ chocobo shite-piles?” Momolk laughed as they rode into the countryside.

“No, they did not, and I shall not have you ruin the majesty of this!”

Baatar simply whooped and laughed as the birds cleared a small dip in the road with a mighty leap, grinning madly at the speed with which they travelled. Soon enough, they had arrived at Summerford Farms - in thirty minutes, rather than two hours of walking - and the chocobos stopped at a set of stables nearly identical to the ones in Limsa Lominsa, though the attendant - who wore the same robes and masks as the others - here was a lalafellin woman.

“Well met,” the attendant said as the group dismounted from their birds. “The travel, I hope, was without trouble?”

“None at all. It was incredible,” Kanna said, putting a hand to her chest. “The view - the speed - the wonder of it! Breathtaking, I must say.”

“Glad ye liked it,” the woman said, smiling as she led the birds by the reins over to a nearby trough of water. “Have yerselves a fine day, now!”

“Oh, question - d’ye know where th’aetheryte’s bein’ built?” Baatar asked.

“Aye - that-away,” the woman replied, pointing to one of the farms’s gates, by the western base of the spiral hill.

“Thanks t’ye.”

The group made their way over to the gate; there, several artisans - some Sharlayan and others Lominsan - were hard at work assembling pieces of an aetheryte station, fusing crystal-shards and pumping aether into inert crystals which sat on workbenches. A tall, green-skinned roegadyn woman in farming clothes stood nearby, watching the farmhands who were working the nearest set of fields; she smiled and waved once she noticed the group approaching.

“Oho! Kanna, Baatar, Xomni’to and Momolk - full glad’m I to be seein’ you lot,” Grynewyda said, nodding. “Ye been a fine help t’Staelwyrn - so I figures, when ‘e says you’d be comin’ later t’help with...whatever shite’s Sevrin’s got now, I were real happy-like.”

“Thank you, Grynewyda,” Kanna replied, bowing. “Staelwyrn said that you might be able to shed some light on where Sevrin and his friends were headed?”

“Aye, I’d me eye on’em - the bastard an’ ‘is mates, they’ll set out fer Woad Whisper Canyon, up north, past the Descent - it’ll be the big drop-off where the Dreadwyrm blasted what used t’be a nice, long hill into bits. There’s the Skylift - helps movin’ goods up’n down, aye, but if ye goes right from the stairs that’ll bring ye down, ye’ll find a path into the Canyon.”

“Aye, that’ll be direction enough, I think,” Xomni’to said, nodding. “Thanks - we’ll set out quick-like.”

“Idjits,” Grynewyda spat. “I bet Sevrin an’ ‘is mates’ll be drunk as shite - ye find’em, ye beat the tar outta’em fer me an’ haul their sorry arses back ‘ere, ken?”

“I ken,” Baatar replied. “So! Off we go!’

This time, the group walked northwest, going past the Agelyss River all the way up to the very edge of a massive cliff; Baatar, Xomni’to and Momolk had seen what had been termed “The Descent” from sea, but up close, it was another thing entirely.

Momolk shook her head as she approached the Skylift - lifts and pulleys, scaffolding, stairways and ladders built into the cliffside to facilitate moving both persons and goods down the cliff with ease - and let out a low whistle.

“Shite,” Momolk exclaimed, “this were a mad thing to be seein’ from sea, but up close this’ll be somethin’ else.”

“How odd that there is nobody up here,” Kanna said, rubbing at the scales underneath her chin. “Should there not be...attendants? Or other persons, such that they might assist traders or travellers?”

“Hrm.” Baatar walked onto the wooden walkway that was nearest to the group and peered over the railings, hands cupped over her mouth. “OI! ANYFOLK DOWN THERE?” She paused, searching with one above her eyes for a moment, then returned to the group, frowning. “Queer as shite -there’ll not be a single person ‘round this part o’ the Skylift - there’ll be some workers, all th’way down to th’west side, aye - but that’ll be at least...fifteen, twenty minutes walk away.”

“Something is wrong, then. Yellowjackets, Maelstrom, even just some regular workers - somebody should be posted on this side,” Xomni’to muttered darkly, pulling his picatrix from his belt. “Momolk - barriers.”

“Aye, I were thinkin’ the same,” Momolk replied.

Both flipped to free array pages and unhooked their quills from their sleeves; with practiced ease they each summoned their Carbuncles and with a whoosh-pop of aether, the two tomes shone with brilliant light as two of the diminutive familiars - Momolk’s yellow, Xomnito’s blue - winked into existence at their feet. After both cast their blue-white barriers around the group, Baatar unslung her axe, keeping it ready in her right hand as she led the party down the long, winding wooden steps towards the bottom of the Skylift, left hand outstretched with her blunderbuss at the ready.

It took several minutes for the group to make their way to the bottom, as Baatar carefully cleared each corner in the stairs; they were just rounding the last bend leading to the bottom of the scaffolding when Baatar flinched and swore upon seeing a crumpled body on the wooden floor.

“Oi,” Baatar shouted, moving closer - but keeping her gun raised. “You. Up!”

“W….who’s there?” The moan that came from the body was weak, raspy; with visible exertion the hyuran man rolled himself onto his back.

It was Aylmer - one of Sevrin’s mates - and a massive hole in his robes showed a massive, swelling bruise radiating out from the center of his chest which was beginning to turn a deep, dark purple.

“S...shite,” Aylmer managed, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Gods...hurts…”

“Hey, hey, stay with us,” Xomni’to said, rushing forward; flipping to the middle of their books, both he and Momolk began pumping Physick spells into the wounded man. It took nearly half a minute of healing, but the bruising began to subside and Aylmer swore as he let loose several coughs.

“Aylmer,” Kanna said as she knelt by the man. “What happened?”

“Fuckin’...that stupid, sodding, shitehead bastard,” Aylmer spat, chest heaving with exertion as Xomni’to eased him into a sitting position. “He says he were sorry, did hisself a big cry-up an’ the like - so we buys it! Says he’d bring us to ‘is ale stash - only to be leadin’ us right into a fuckin’ trap!”

“Trap?” Baatar exclaimed. “How so?”

“Iunno,” Aylmer answered, shaking his head. “Somethin’ ‘bout ‘is old crew or summat? There were a buncha big, muscled sailor-types - soon as we came near th’Canyon they came runnin’ outta the caves.”

“How many of these sailors were there?” Kanna asked sharply.

“Shite. Iunno - only a few, I thinks,” Aylmer replied. “Hells. Only reason I gots way’s ‘cause I thought the whole setup smelled shite-like - so I ran, first sign’a troubles. The others-” Aylmer’s eyes widened, expression going from anger to pleading in an instant. “The others! You’s gotta save’em - they done nothin’ wrong!”

“We’ll do the thing,” Baatar replied coolly. “Don’t ye be worryin’. Can ye walk?”

“Aye,” Aylmer wheezed, shakily getting to his feet. “I’ll be a’right - go!”

With a nod, Aylmer took off as fast as he could up the stairs of the scaffolding; Xomni’to, Baatar and Momolk all drew a gun and nodded.

“Ye watch the back, Kanna - shouts, if ye sees anyone skulkin’ ‘round behind us,” Baatar growled. “There. That’ll be th’way,” she added, pointing to a section of the wooden bridges to their right; while most of the paths off the scaffolding led down into the grasslands they’d scene from up top, the path to their right led into a series of smooth-stone caves, with the waterfalls of Woad Whisper Canyon visible in the distance.

With cautious speed, the group moved through the open tunnels, creeping along; nearly two minutes passed without incident until, from around a corner, another of Sevrin’s friends - Eyrimhus, the roegadyn - limped out, the worn axe on his back chipped and his hands clamped over a bleeding wound on his leg.

“Oi,” Baatar hissed, lowering her gun. “Eyrimhus, aye?”

The man nodded, shaking his head and jerking his head back down the tunnel; Xomni’to and Momolk rushed forward, healing the deep, bleeding gash on his leg with a few casts of Physick magic.

“Lissen,” Eyrimhus muttered, eyes frantic, “Sevrin’s old crew or summat, they’s in there - careful, you lot, if you means to go. I tried to be fightin’em and all I gots were this slice in me leg.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kanna replied. “Just go, get yourself out of here.”

“Ye don’t have t’be sayin’ so twice,” Eyrimhus spat as he scampered off into the distance.

The group forged onwards - and now, they could hear the sounds of steel-upon-steel and battle-cries. Beyond the next bend stood Sozai Rarzai - Sevrin’s lalafellin friend - hidden behind the last corner of cave before the tunnels opened into the canyon itself; just beyond, Sevrin was on one knee, supporting himself with the haft of his axe and bleeding from several wounds while a trio of heavily-tattooed sailors - two roegadyn, one male and one female, each carrying axes, and a third hyur with sword and shield - stood over him.

“Well, well, well. Won’t this be the sorriest sight I’s seen in me life,” the roegadyn man - clad in red leathers and wearing woad upon the left side of his face - spat. “Yer a sack’a shite, through’n through, Sevrin - betrayin’ folks over, an’ over.”

Sozai Rarzai saw the party coming and glanced nervously between Sevrin and his attackers - and the party as they crept up to him. “Shite - yer here t’help? They’s ‘bout to fuckin’ kill Sev, they are - if ye wants to be doin’ something, now’s the time!”

“Now now, Sevrin,” the roegadyn continued. “We was prepared t’be overlookin’ yer desertion if, and only if, ye brought us some fine replacements. That were our deal, no?”

“F-fuck off,” Sevrin spat between laboured breaths. “Yer not takin’ me mates! Yer not takin’ nor kidnappin’ nobody!”

“How rude! I’s not the one who’s left debts unpaid,” the man replied, shaking his head with a smirk. “Ye betrayed the Serpent Reavers, Sevrin - not once, not twice, but three times now. Why, even ifs I wanted t’be lettin’ ye go, I couldn’t! There’s rules, boy,” the man said, tone lowering, “and you’s broken’em fer the last time.”

“Now!” Baatar shouted; the party leapt forward, guns barking and belching smoke while Kanna threw a pair of daggers at the trio of sailors; the hyuran man with the sword and shield went down, but a blood-red barrier flared to life in front of the roegadyn, blocking the fire.

“Ahhh,” the roegadyn man said, clapping his hands slowly. “Well met, ye shites. Anyhows, Sevrin - we’s got other things t’be doin’ - so ye have a fine time, and yer friends too.”

“Other thin - get ta fuck, you will,” Baatar shouted, drawing her second blunderbuss. “Yer not goin’ nowhere, ye blue-faced bawsack!”

“That so, eh?” the man replied. He simply winked - and a voice rang out from somewhere in the canyon - seething, reedy, the accent unknown to Baatar.

 

<Creator, who art mournful,> the voice shouted, <send unto me one of your abyss! A thrall of my choosing and a thrall of my command! Give me thine power, so I may smite mine enemies!>

 

Baatar and the others jumped back - Kanna dragging Sevrin with her - as the earth before them began to churn and rumble.

“Aether,” Xomni’to shouted. “The fuck - the aether! It’s purple again!”

“That’ll be our cue. We won’t be meetin’ again.” The roegadyn man and his partner leapt off the canyon into the water below, disappearing from sight; Baatar had no time to consider chasing them, as the rocks which were coming out of the ground directly ahead were beginning to cluster together - first into one pile, then another - then into a legs, torso, arms, and a head: altogether, the thing was a towering beast of seething rock which was easily double or triple the height of Baatar.

“What in the fuck,” Xomni’to hissed.

“Golem,” Momolk exclaimed - quiet, then loud, frantic. “THA'S A FUCKIN' GOLEM!”

“FUCK YOU, GOLEM!” Baatar unloaded her second blunderbuss onto the rock-formed beast - and cursed as the shot simply bounced off it; she blinked and sighed. “Ah, piss. BEHIND ME!”

The golem surged forward and slammed its mighty boulder-formed “fists” down towards Baatar; with all of her strength she managed to deflect the blow with a well-timed strike from her axe and began furiously chipping away at the creature, the sounds of axe-upon-rock echoing throughout the canyon as Momolk and Xomni’to - and their familiars - hurled warmagic as fast as they could cast: unaspected Ruin spells chipped away at the rocks upon the Golem’s surface, while casts of Miasma and Bio sent floods of caustic toxins cascading towards the creature’s aetheric core and eroding away its rocky hide.

Kanna, in the mean time, circled around to the rear of the golem; her katana was ill-suited to simply battering the creature into submission, and so she bided her time, waiting for Baatar’s attacks to expose seams between the boulders and rocks which formed the golem’s skin; every chance she could get, she would drive her blade into these openings, slicing open whole sections of the golem and sending massive chunks of rock and dirt crumbling into the canyon floor.

The fight dragged on; kept aloft by Momolk and Xomni’to sending healing her way in between volleys of spells, Baatar stood before the beast, panting and bruised with a grin on her face; though she was far from unscathed, the others had only suffered minor scrapes and scratches from flying debris, and now the glowing yellow core of the golem was visible beneath what little armour remained on its chest. As if in reaction, the Golem roared; Baatar braced herself for the towering creature to charge at her and flinched as, instead, it seemed to curl in upon itself-

-and Baatar’s eyes widened in surprise as everything seemed to pause.

 

Her jaw dropped.

 

She was looking at herself from behind; Baatar frantically struggled, realized that she was floating in mid-air, transparent.

The golem started moving slowly, as if wading through water or mud; it unfurled, and shed most of its rock-body-armour in a spray of aether-sharpened shrapnel. Baatar watched herself - there, on the floor of the canyon - scramble to get out of the way, running out of the shrapnel’s reach - but the Baatar there was too slow.

Baatarsaikhan watched in horror as the spray of rock shards hit her double-self in the back, slow spouts of blood spraying into the air as the rocks dented her armour and pierced her skin-

-and her vision swam as other-Baatar fell to the ground, zooming in on the farthest space that the spray of rocks reached, about ten paces away from the golem-

-Baatar screamed as, once more, she stood upon the canyon floor looking at the golem begin to curl in upon itself. “RUN! IT’S FIRIN’ ITS ROCKS!” Baatar shouted, turning tail and sprinting away from the creature without any hesitation. Forewarned by her nightmarish vision, this time Baatar made it past the ten paces without trouble; a stray rock managed to hit her in the arm, though instead of killing her it simply dented her shoulder-guards.

The golem, now, had barely any rock upon its frame; it was a skeleton of visible yellow aether traced in the outline of a humanoid body; Kanna shouted and lunged forward, leaping over the rock-shrapnel that lay in a ring around the beast, plunging her blade into its core. With a loud cry, she tore the blade out - and with that the beast crumbled into inert rock and dust upon the canyon floor.

“Ho, shite, that were close,” Baatar wheezed, falling to the floor on her butt. “Twelve. Did...did ye...shite, Sevrin!”

Momolk and Xomni’to - both panting from aetherial drain - scuttled over to Sevrin, who’d managed to drag himself away from canyon and towards the caves. Xomni’to and Momolk both immediately began pouring healing casts of Physick into Sevrin’s limp, bleeding form; Baatar and Kanna watched with bated breath; maybe a minute passed in silence before Sevrin let out a loud, wheezing gasp, his body shuddering to life. He tried to move - then howled in pain, as Momolk and Xomni’to did their best to hold the man still.

“Hold - GET YER SHITE TOGETHER, SEVRIN!” Momolk shouted, laying all her weight into his legs while Xomni’to cradled his head. “FUCKIN’ - STOP - MOVIN’!”

Sevrin kept thrashing, screaming for a few moments - then stopped, his body going still, save for his laboured, pained wheezing; he groaned, opening his eyes, staring down at his blood-soaked clothes.

“Hoo - ho, fuck,” Sevrin gasped. “Fuckin’ hells, that hurts. How...how’s I livin’?”

“We healed you - and hold still,” Xomni’to hissed, sighing in relief as he shakily got to his feet with Momolk. “We might’a closed your wounds, aye, but barely. Move overmuch and they’ll tear right open.”

“O-okay,” Sevrin replied, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “M-me mates. Whe-”

“They’re safe, Sevrin,” Kanna replied, her voice stern. “They’re all heading back - if not back by now - at the Summerford Farms.”

“Gods. Oh, Twelve be praised,” Sevrin muttered.

“I do suppose that having a group of goodly adventurers save you from your mistakes - saving your life in the process, no less - might very well be counted as an act of divine intervention,” came a familiar voice; it was Y’shtola, her white plaits swaying as she jogged, wand drawn, into the canyon; she glanced between Sevrin, the adventurers, and then the cliffs of the canyon; with a sigh she hissed with frustration and kneaded her brow. “Damnation - the snake slipped away, again.” She exhaled deeply, then turned to face the group. “I suppose, though, that we should be glad he did not sink his fangs more deeply into you.”

“There weren’t no snake,” Baatar replied, scowling.

“She refers to the person - I assume - what summoned the golem?” Xomni’to noted, head cocked. “Do I have the way’o things?”

“Mmm. Yes - that is so.” She glanced down at Sevrin, a look of distaste creeping into her expression. “And you, sir Sevrin. You may have made the right decision in the end - but you’ve done a great deal-”

 

-Baatar froze; she was no longer in the middle of the canyon, but rather back in the caves - and she flinched as she saw Y’shtola creep up to a wall, ears twitching as she listened in on a group of sailors. Baatar tried to call to her, but found that she could not move and that her body - when she looked down -shone a bright, brilliant white. Despite the glow, Y’shtola paid no attention to Baatar, her gaze passing right through her.

“Pirates?” Y’shtola muttered to herself, frowning. “But not of any of the Lominsan factions - then - whom do they serve? The beast tribes - no, unthinkable - but their timing. The Sahagin and kobolds resurgent - no, it is too fitting. Something is afoot - but what?” The white-haired-woman dared to peek around the corner and saw that the sailors were now climbing down a ladder they’d thrown over the side of the canyon into the river below; she scowled, sighed and kneaded her brow. “Primals - oh, twelve forefend - if they plan to summon the primals - Limsa could hardly keep one at bay, let alone two. More. I need to know more.”

Baatar blinked again - and now she was in Limsa Lominsa, the city streets looking oddly wrong - and she cried out in shock as she recognized the fishing pier she was standing on, the streets, the people -

-it was before the Calamity.

Y’shtola walked into view, standing at the end of the pier, staring up at the blood-red moon hanging in the sky; Baatar wanted to scream, to shout, to cry some sort of warning, but no words escaped her lips.

“The seas continue to rise,” Y’shtola muttered, staring darkly up at Dalamud, its red glow perfectly visible in the midday sun. “The lesser moon continues to fall - ilm by ilm, the world becomes ever more unlike itself.” She sighed, grinding her teeth for a moment, her tail and ears twitching with palpable unease. “It is as you foretold, Louisoix,” she continued. “The coming of chaos has sundered the laws of nature; material and the aetherial, no longer separate, their boundaries blurred - nothing stands between us and the Primals, now. “ Y’shtola paused, tapping a foot on the pier, then marshaled herself, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “But they are not here yet. ‘Though time be against us, hope shall ever be on our side;’ never did the creed of Sharlayan ring more true, I suppose.”

Baatar blinked once more - and she was in Limsa Lominsa as it was now, rebuilt, whole again; Y’shtola sat upon a crate, before pulling her strange lens-mask from her belt and strapped it to her face; the device, a set of goggles with a larger, siwrling circular lens hanging over her mouth, made an odd whining sound as she depressed a button on its side, and with an audible click the lower portion of the goggles snapped upwards, the third lens now sitting by her forehead.

“Never,” Y’shtola said to herself, “did I dream I would possess the means to see aether - and yet, now that it is so, I so often take it for granted. How swiftly do the wonders of Sharlayan seem commonpl - ah!” Y’shtola flinched, her gaze drawn to the sky. “A disturbance in the aetheric flow - but whence does it emanate - hrm. Perhaps - Seasong Grotto - like before?” She pulled the goggles from her face, strapped the device to her belt and took off into the city-

-and Baatar wheezed as her vision was pulled back into Whisper Woad Canyon; she was laying on her back, staring up at the sky, while Kanna, Xomni’to and Momolk were similarly laid out.

 

“Oho. The four of you awaken once again,” Y’shtola said, looking from the tunnel entrances; she was slowly healing Sevrin’s battered body, clouds of bright green aether flowing from her wand into his body. “You - you four collapsed from your exertions, once again. Are you suitably recovered?”

“Re - recovered?” Baatar groaned, getting to her feet as she rubbed her horns. “Ay - wait. Oi, oi! I saws you - who’ll be this Lou - Lou-ee-swah, huh?”

“Louisioix? How do you know that name?” Y’shtola replied, her voice turning to ice.

“I - yes, I know the name - I think perhaps we - we shared a vision?” Kanna said, her tail - and Baatar’s - both flicking about uneasily. “I - you were in Limsa, twice, and once, here.”

Baatar nodded - and paused as she noticed Xomni’to, his tail ramrod-straight and his ears twitching; his gaze was unfocused, and he said nothing.

“Aye,” Momolk added, eyes searching Y’shtola with a discerning gaze “And - and I thinks we saw ye ‘fore ye came t’the Season Grotto, from two suns ago.”

“Is...is that so.” Y’shtola nodded slowly, her tone flat - before a small smile spread across her face. “Well, in any case - Sevrin here filled me in with the details - and he shed some light upon how you came to be attacked, of all things, by a golem,” Y’Shtola explained, jerking her head at the pile of rubble on the canyon floor. “Such a summoning is no small arcane feat - common pirates, I think, would be hard-pressed to even hope to control such a being. But then - these tattooed pirates of ours are no common men.”

“Oi,” Baatar spat, her tone low and her tail thumping a steady beat on her legs, “ye didn’t fuckin’ answer our questions - again, I might be sayin’.”

“Hmm. Just be careful - these men serve the Sahagin in all ways,” Y’shtola continued, as though Baatar had not asked her question. “As to their purposes? Who can say - though I shall be getting to the bottom of this.”

“Ye frosty, snow-haired b- yer name’s...Y’shtola, aye?” Momolk said, tone unimpressed. “Ye don’t have t’be ignorin’ us, y’know. Ye can do yer explainin’ and not be rude-like t’us.”

“My apologies,” Y’shtola said, finally getting to her feet - evidently done healing Sevrin, who simply sighed in relief and resumed laying on the canyon floor in silence. “Well, yes, my name is Y’shtola - as, I assume, Staelwyrn explained. I am a...naturalist of sorts, primarily engaged with the study of aether.”

“Right - yes - I saw you,” Kanna said, nodding. “Your - your lenses, they allow you to see aether and its fluctuations?”

“That is correct.” Y’shtola’s expression flitted between consternation, cheer and worry; she opened her mouth and shut it once before finally speaking again. “My apologies, once more. I meant none of you rudeness or insult in my manners - I have simply had much upon my mind. If y-”

Y’shtola paused as her linkpearl began ringing - a chime, thrice - and she put her hand to her right ear.

“I - yes, yes, I am well,” Y’shtola said, nodding. “No - I am afraid not. He eluded my grasp. Of course - I will inform Commodore Reyner, and return forthwith.” Nodding, she turned to the group and nodded. “I’m afraid I must take my leave at once - I shall escort Sevrin back to Staelwyrn for you.”

“Oi - HEY! The fuck ye think ye’re goin’? Ye - come - COME BACK ‘ERE!” Baatar shouted; she spat on the floor as Y’shtola took off into the tunnels at full speed, Sevrin wincing as he followed; Baatar growled in frustration as she slumped back onto the ground in exhaustion. “Oh, that slimy, shite-eatin’ bitch - I gets my hands ‘round her next time, she’ll be answerin’ t’me real quick-like!”

“Should we follow?” Kanna muttered. “I...I dislike the fact that she clearly knows...something, and yet was unwilling to share that knowledge.”

“Seven hells, what ‘bout that vision?” Momolk added uneasily. “Ye saws the same, right? Y’shtola, in Limsa and shite? The fuck were that ‘bout?”

“Well, I can see the future sometimes,” Kanna replied after a moment’s thought, her tail curling around her waist as the tip tapped at her hips in thought. “Would it be so difficult to believe that perhaps I - and you three - can also see the past? If - if that crystal which called itself Hydaelyn is of divine origin - if she is the planet Herself - who is to say that you three are not blessed by the gods, too?”

“Ah, fuck, I don’t want no gods-blessin’ - I want answers, fer fuck’s sake!” Baatar shouted. “Oi, Xomni, ye hasn’t said nothin’ - y’alright?”

Xomni’to blinked, and his ears flicked as he shook his head. “Oh - yes. Yes, I am fine. Merely - I - I cannot shake the feeling that I have met - nevermind. The vision, too - I find myself ill at ease, not knowing the providence of these visions.”

“I wonders if Chernatai an’ Valére has these things, too,” Baatar wondered, groaning as she got to her feet. “Ah, shite - we can be figurin’ this pisspot out later. Firsts, we should be gettin’ back t’Staelwyrn. Who knows - maybe we’ll be runnin’ into this Y’shtola ‘gain. Everyone’s fine?”

“Yes - yes, I am alright. Tired, a little hungry, but no worse for wear,” Kanna replied.

“Aye, I’ll be fine, too - m’aether’s low, as is Xomni’s, but that’ll be nothin’ a fine meal won’t be fixin’,” Momolk added as Xomni’to nodded.

“Right. Let’s be goin’, then.”

Much to Baatar’s consternation and frustration, the group did not see Sevrin or Y’shtola on their way back to the farm; by the time they had returned to Staelwyrn, Baatar was muttering angrily to herself, though she cut her curses short once Staelwyrn came to meet them at the base of the spiral hill - with an exhausted Sevrin in tow.

“Oho - I knew ye’d bring the boy back,” Staelwyrn said, smiling as he waved the group over. “Y’shtola brought Sev back, and ‘is mates returned not long before, aye. Tales ‘o yer heroism abound!”

“Aye - we killed us a golem, we did,” Baatar said proudly.

“An’ - an’ - oh, gods,” Sevrin said, wiping tears from his already-stained face. “Fuck - look - ye can be bringin’ me to the Maelstrom fer whatever punishin’ they might give. This’ll be my fault.”

“Ye can say as such again,” Momolk spat.

“No - ah - lissen,” Sevrin said, rubbing at his eyes with both hands. “Those bastards - those’ll be me old crew, the Serpent Reavers.”

“Reavers, eh?” Staelwyrn muttered. “Rumours has them bein’ the servants o’ the fishback tribes. That so?”

“Aye - I mean - look. We weren’t famous or nothing’ - least, not beyond th’darkest bits o’ Limsa’s worst. We...we were the folks, the sort what stole from Eorzeans,” Sevrin muttered, staring at the ground in shame.

“And you went along with this, in direct violation of both the sailors’ and pirate’s code of the Lominsan authorities,” Kanna said coolly.

‘Aye. Aye, I did. But then - a few years back - I were just ‘bout to be a full shipman o’ the Reavers, done me rites an’ tests an’ such - and then, the big cap’n - ‘e says we’s to start snatchin’ Lominsans. Someone asked why so - and then ‘e says all us Reavers, we’s to be servin’ his - our - new Sahagin masters.” Sevrin shook his head. “I were a right bastard, a real shitehead - but I weren’t no traitor, what worked fer the fishbacks - I had to be gettin’ out. I crept off one night, got meself a new name - Sevrin, from me gramps - and thoughts I’d be free. ‘Cept the Reavers found me quick - hows, I’s no idea - and theys cornered me one evenin’ ‘round the’edge o’ the farm. Says - says they’d be killin’ me, or worse, bringin’ me t’be servin’ the Sahagin by force - but they’d let me be. Freedom. Alls I had to be doin’ was to payin’ wi’ the lives o’ my mates.”

“And - and ye lured’em to th’canyon? So ye could be...spendin’ yer mates’ lives fer yer own, ye fuckin’ traitor coward?” Baatar shouted. “Gods damn you, you’re a right dick of a man, ye know?”

“I know - I know - I know!” Sevrin wailed. “But - but I - I couldn’t be doin’ it - an’ so, once the bastards showed in th’canyon - I drew me axe, told’em to run.” He stopped, eyes closed. “Ye...I’d be dead, an’ maybe me mates taken, too, if ye hadn’t saved m’arse from’em.”

“But...but, however late,” Staelwyrn said quietly, laying a massive hand upon Sevrin’s shoulders, “ye made the right choice.”

“Too late, aye,” Sevrin muttered. “Looks - I’s bruised an’ shite - that Y’shtola woman had t’be pumpin’ me fulla conjury just to be gettin’ here. Second I’s good fer more walkin’, I’ll turn meself into the Yellowjackets an’ the Maelstrom. I’ll not shame the farm by hidin’.” Sevrin looked up, stood a little straighter. “If I’ll be hung, so’s it. I’ll not shy way from’t.”

“Good man,” Baatar said flatly. “No runnin’, no longer.”

“Aye,” Sevrin replied.

“I - well, I won’t be stoppin’ ye,” Staelwyrn said proudly. “Each man sails by ‘is own compass - and yers seems t’be workin’ fine, at least now. Stills - I’ll bring ye to the city shortly, if ye wants - and if ye do live, I hopes you’ll come back ‘ere and work the fields proper-like.”

“I’ll...I’ll be in yer debt, Staelwyrn,” Sevrin replied, nodding. “And yers, fine ‘venturers - I’s caused ye no shortage ‘o trouble, that’ll be fer certain.” Sevrin took a deep breath, bowed slightly - wincing as he did so - and hobbled off back up to the farmhouse; Staelwyrn watched him go with a sad look.

“A right fuckin’ shitestorm, this was,” Staelwyrn muttered, shaking his head. “Still, ye lot did good - ye saved me farmers, and ye’s done good by me. I’ll...I’ll pay ye back in more’n gil - tomorrow I brings yer payment, an’ I’ll be passin’ free goods ‘long t’Idree, an’ the Bismarck.”

“Will...you have paid us a fortune already,” Kanna said quietly. “Can you be affording to hand such to us?”

“Aye. Things’ll be tighter, fer sure - but better I cuts the drinkin’ an’ such fer a while, rather than not sleepin’ right ‘cause I didn’t do right by ye folks,” Staelwyrn stressed. “I’s may be no sailor, aye, but I has me honour.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhaled, opened them, and smiled. “Ah - and if I could be troublin’ ye for a final job - could ye be tellin’ Baderon what happened ‘ere? I...I’s mad at Sevrin, aye, but I...I don’t wants ‘im to be shot or strung up fer this. The farmers ‘ere - hells, even I - we’s all...done our share’a shite. It’ll be whys we all jumped to be farmin’, I’d wager. Poor bastard - ‘e deserves the chance t’be payin’ ye folks back, t’be payin’ Limsa back for what he’s done, no?”

“Deserves?” Baatar hissed. “‘E deserves what the lawfolk gives ‘im, that’s what ‘e deserves.” She spat on the ground and sighed. “But I’ll be sure t’tell Baderon ‘bout it - y’ave me word.”

“It...it means much t’me.” Staelwyrn gazed back over his farmlands, staring for a long moment at his farmhands as they laboured the fields, singing old shanties as they worked. “Really. A thousand thanks.”

“It is no trouble,” Kanna reassured him. “And, in the end, I think things have worked out for the better.”

“But,” Momolk added, “maybe be keepin’ an eye on yer famers? Check t’see if ye gots any more shiteheads - I’s not wanna be comin’ back t’find you’s dealin’ with another Sevrin, ken?”

“Oh, gods - aye, I’ll do the thing,” Staelwyrn muttered.

“Well - ye keep good, and we sees ye next sun,” Baatar said, standing on her toes to pat Staelwyrn on the forearm. “Have yerself a fine day, Staelwyrn.”

“And you - you lot get some rest, haves yerserlves a drink. Or ten,” Staelwyrn shouted as the group set off.

“Now,” Baatar said as the group walked up to the edge of the farm, “we could be portin’ back t’Limsa - or,” she said, smiling at Kanna, “we’s the coin t’be doin’ ano’er ride on the chocobos. Ye wants that?”

“Oh - oh, yes, please,” Kanna replied eagerly. “That - that would be wonderful.”

“Right then,” Momolk sighed as the group returned to the Chocobokeep station. “I’ll be needin’ a bath and a real fuckin’ feast, after this shite. Come on!”

The party returned to the Aetheryte Plaza in Limsa Lominsa and stepped aside to one of the nearby benches; Baatar flopped down into it, wrapping her tail around her waist as she sat, while Momolk simply plopped herself onto the ground.

“So, what is our plan?” Kanna asked. “I am quite hungry, and I am sure the rest of you are as well - but I am also tired. Shall we retire first? Or head straight to Baderon to inform him of Sevrin’s...fate, as Staelwyrn asked?”

“I says we just get ourselves to Baderon - we can be eatin’ an’ gettin’ this shite with Sevrin outta the way,” Baatar groused.

“Aye,” Momolk added, leaning back so that she could look up at the group. “Sooner we’s done with Sevrin - the better. I don’t have t’be botherin’ ‘bout him any longer.”

“That suits me fine,” Kanna noted, nodding. “Xomni’to?”

“Eh. I’ve no complaints,” he replied, shrugging.

“Right, right, let’s be movin’, then.” Baatar and the others teleported up to the Aftcastle and made their way over to Baderon’s; by the time they were outside the Drowning Wench the sun was just beginning to set, and the tavern was starting to slowly fill with patrons.

“Oi, ye lot’r back?” Baderon shouted, waving the group over as he passed along a tray festooned with tankards to one of the miqo’te waitresses. “I heards you folks were proper ‘venturers now, eh?”

“Aye, that’ll be so,” Baatar replied as the group approached the bar; Baderon passed her a cushion, which she placed on Momolk’s stool as the lalafellin woman clambered up, and she remained standing as Momolk, Kanna and Xomni’to sat down. “Anyhows, I’ll not waste yer time - Staelwyrn wants us t’be talkin’ t’ye ‘bout Sevrin.”

“Sev? Ah, shite. Staelwyrn’s talked ‘bout the lad plenty-a-time ‘fore now,” Baderon sighed. “What’s the bastard done this time, eh?”

“Turns out the man was an ex-Serpent Reaver,” Kanna explained, nodding at Baderon’s hiss of displeasure. “You’re familiar, I figure?”

“Those cunts? Aye, I know’em,” Baderon spat. “Pirates what spit on the Code - bastards, the lot’ve ‘em. But I hasn’t heard’ve their shite, not fer a while.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “I figures they learned ‘bout the Code all proper-like, or someone else bashed the thing into their skulls.”

“Eh - no. Not quite,” Xomni’to muttered. “They - well, according to Sevrin, anyhow - apparently the captain of the bunch, they’ve turned themselves oe’er to the Sahagin.”

“What in the fuck? Gods damn, I thought the Reavers a bunch of fuckwits, aye, but I never thought they’d be servin’ the fishbacks,” Baderon said darkly.

“Right - so Sevrin, fine man that ‘e’ll be, he tried t’be runnin’ from the group then,” Baatar explained. “But they found ‘im at the farm, they did, and they threatened him, sayin’ Sev had t’be handin’ either his mates oe’er - or hisself.”

Baderon whistled, and nodded as he scratched at his beard. “So - so wot, Sevrin handed, or tried t’be handin’ ‘is mates oe’er?”

“He tried t’be, a’ first,” Momolk replied, “but once ‘is Reaver crew showed ‘e pulled ‘is axe, told ‘is mates t’be runnin’ fer their lives.”

“Grew a spine, aye. Late, though,” Baatar hissed. “Stupid shite. If we was late - a minute less - Sev’d be dead and ‘is mates taken. Arsehole shoulda talked t’the Maelstrom or summat. Anyhows, us goodly adventurers saved the man’s arse, an’ Sevrin done turned hisself in.”

“Staelwyrn bid us talk to you,” Kanna continued, “because he believes you might be able to lighten Sevrin’s sentence - since, I imagine, he will probably be met with the noose or the firing line, at best.”

“Fuckin’ waste’a time, y’ask me,” Baatar spat. “Fucker deserves whatever ‘e gets, I thinks.”

“Aye, aye, I ken,” He sighed, grumbled something incoherent, then rubbed at his brow. “I’ll see what I can be doin’ - maybe I can be commutin’ the sentence from a hangin’ to a keelhaulin’ or summat.”

“Uh, I am no sailor,” Kanna offered, “but...I was under the impression that keelhauling generally results in death by drowning.”

“It were a joke,” Baderon replied, raising an eyebrow.

“No joke,” Baatar added. “Drown the bastard, for all I cares.”

“Easy, sister - ye keeps talkin’ like that, we’ll think you’ll do the thing yerself,” Momolk said, patting Baatar on the arm.

“We all makes mistakes,” Baderon muttered. “Aye, Sev’s done a big shitestorm, he ‘as - but, the man deserves a fair trial, at least, eh? Better, I thinks, that ‘e pays Limsa back in the mines or summat. I’ll see what can be done for the lad - ye don’t need t’be worryin’ ‘bout such. Anyroads - that all? Maybe an early supper, or a drink to be takin’ yer minds from this shite business?”

“We’ll take supper, I think,” Kanna replied. “I think the four of us are quite hungry.”

“You lot have preference fer food? I don’t think you fours, of all, needs a menu. Special t’day’s beef stew.”

The four looked at one another and shrugged; Baatar nodded at Baderon. “Stew fer all? Cool-beer, too, perhaps?”

“I’ll fetch the thing, then.” Baderon scribbled on a piece of parchment and brought it over to the hole in the wall behind him that connected the bar to the kitchen, then poured tankards of cool-beer for everyone. “You lot need anythin’ else - ye lemme know, a’right?”

Baatar smiled as she set down her axe against the bar before she sat down. The group watched Baderon return to tending bar; nobody said anything for a moment, and they drank heavily from their tankards before Baatar broke the silence.

“So, uh, that - the golem,” she muttered, staring into her tankard. “Did...did any’ve yous...see a vision then?”

“What, of the golem? No,” Xomni’to replied, frowning. “Just Y’shtola.”

“Wot? No, like - when the golem did the thing what shot the rocks at us,” Baatar explained, concern spreading across her face. “How’d ye knows to be dodgin’ the things?”

“Th’aether ‘round the golem got all orange-y - real thick and fucky and such,” Momolk answered, as Xomni’to nodded. “Figured that’d be a bad place t’be standin’. What, did ye not see such?”

“Hold on a moment. Now, I saw no such thing myself, but then again - Baatarsaikhan and I cannot see aether,” Kanna mused, “Myself - I saw a, a ghost-like vision of the golem firing the rocks at us, before it happened, and was about to warn you when Baatar shouted to run. I assumed that was just my seerhood - or something akin to it.” She frowned. “But - but if I received a vision of the golem’s future actions, and you two,” Kanna continued, nodding at the Molkohs, “were able to perceive the incoming danger as a shift in aether - then how did you know to run, Baatar?”

Baatar flinched, winced. “Uh...I saw meself dyin’.” The three gawked at her; Baatar frowned and scratched at her horns uneasily. “I….I thought ye lot might’ve been seein’ the same.”

“You….you died? In your vision?” Kanna pressed, tone nervous. “How?”

“I, uh, I saws a vision of me not runnin’ fast ‘nuff from the golem’s rock-bits. Watched the things hit me all bloody-like - and then I sees how far I had t’be runnin’ so I wouldn’t die,” Baatar explained quietly. “It were...it were a little frightnin’, t’be frank. But then I weren’t havin’ the vision, and I warned you lot so, y’know, we’d not be dyin’.”

Nobody said anything for a moment.

“I...I have sometimes thought of my visions as a burden,” Kanna whispered, shaking her head as her tail thumped uneasily on her stool, “but I have never had the...horror of seeing myself dead.”

Baatar sighed, and drank some more beer. “Well, it saved me scales, eh? So I’d rather be seein’ meself dead, than actually bein’ so, ken?” With a long draw Baatar drained her tankard and set it down, wiping her mouth with the back of her gauntleted hand. “Ech. Let’s...let’s not be talkin’ more ‘bout this, aye? What I wants t’know is who this Y’shtola is, y’ask me.”

“Aye - we all has those visions of her, no?” Momolk added, clearly excited to change the subject. “Both ‘fore an’ after the Calamity, eh? At what - what ‘bout those pirates we saw? Somethin’ ‘bout servin’ the Sahagin? The kobolds up north? The fuck’s that ‘bout?”

“Well, I would have have asked Y’shtola, but the second she took that linkpearl call she seemed to desire taking her leave rather urgently,” Kanna groused. “And she very, very clearly knows more than she claims, or such. I dislike that she has failed, twice now, to inform us of goings-on.”

“Oi, an’ Xomni, ye looked like someone done a shit in yer boots when we was talkin’ t’er,” Baatar noted, nodding. “What were that ‘bout?”

“I - hrm.” Xomni’to ran a hand through his hair, as his ears twitched and his tail flicked back and forth. “For whatever reason, I find myself thinkin’ that I’ve met this Y’shtola before - before Seasong Grotto.”

“Well, Staelwyrn says that this woman studies aether around Limsa Lominsa, no?” Kanna replied. “I see no reason why it wouldn’t be entirely possible that you’ve laid eyes upon her before.”

“No, I mean-”

“-ah, shut it - food’s ‘ere,” Momolk shouted, cutting Xomni’to off as one of the waitresses laid heaping, steaming bowls of rich beef stew on the table. She grabbed her spoon, picked up a chunk of meat and glared at the others. “Let’s not be worryin’ ‘bout this shite while we can be eatin’, fine?”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Xomni’to answered. “But - nevermind.”

“Just be eatin’, brother,” Baatar sighed, patting Xomni’to on the back. “We’ll figure this frosty bitch out, no trouble.”

Baatar was the first to finish her food; the others, hungry as they were, wolfed down their food in silence until, only a few minutes later, their bowls were empty. She watched Kanna take another swig from her tankard, paused, and frowned.

“Now holds on a minute, eh? Since when will you be drinkin’ beer?” Baatar asked, pointing her spoon at Kanna. “I thoughts you said it’d be disagreein’ with yer stomach or summat.”

“Oh, no, this - well, I was going to say something, but Baderon had already left. And, besides, I figured that perhaps cool-beer might not upset my stomach as much as the ales I’ve tried,” Kanna explained, her pale skin flushed. “So far, this seems quite alright - and, in truth, I quite enjoy the taste of cool-beer over ales, stouts and such.”

“Ahhh, now there’s a right relief. You can’t be a proper Lominsan if ye don’t drink beer,” Baatar laughed. “Ye can be thankin’ Momolk fer that, then!”

“Oho, well then,” Kanna giggled, nodding at Momolk, “thanks, Miss Momolk! At last, I can truly say I live in your fine city.”

“Aye, a good thing, too - any more orderin’ of punch from Baderon without pineapples, an’ yer likely to make the man mad,” Momolk replied, grinning. “Well? We wants t’be leavin’ now?”

“Y’know what, I wouldn’t be mindin’ another drink meself,” Baatar said, shrugging. “Not that I’s lookin’ t’be rowdy or what - just...we’s had a nice few days, and I think it’d be a right treat. On me, even!”

“Yes, that sounds quite nice, really - and perhaps I shall have another cool-beer,” Kanna added.

“Oi, Baderon, another round, if ye please,” Baatar shouted; the man nodded from further down the bartop, and returned not long after with another set of tankards.

“Thank you, Baderon,” Kanna said as she took hers and watched Baderon return to dealing with the ever-increasingly crowded tavern. The group raised their tankards and drank; Kanna sighed loudly, and set hers down. “I must say, I think we have done quite well for ourselves in our first days of adventuring,” she said, nodding vigorously. “I will confess that I thought we might not fare so well.”

“Oi, wot, ‘cause we weren’t heroes or nothing’? I’m offended, I am,” Baatar said with mock sorrow, a hand upon her chest.

“N-no! Not - that’s not what I meant,” Kanna sputtered, shaking her head. “Just that, well, none of us had any real experience with...you know, adventuring. What - I mean, I was a law-woman, and you three were sailors! I just am happily surprised. Don’t - don’t look at me like I’m mad,” Kanna added, before taking another drink. “I’m not mad. It makes sense!”

“I suppose,” Xomni’to replied, shrugging. “But it’s not as though we were just a bunch of ah, how to say, gardeners, or something. You knew how to fight, and though we were sailors we trained to fight, too - not always are the waters ‘round Eorzea safe, as you’ve learned.”

“Oh - fine, never mind, then.” Kanna chugged down most of her tankard and waved a hand in dismissal. “You get my point. I know it.”

“Well, I’ll say, it’ll be a surprise t’me how much I likes the adventurin’, y’know,” Baatar admitted. “I thought it’d be more...stupid shite, an’ such. Fetchin’ fruits an’ killin’ pests, eh?”

“Most adventurers, they has to be doin’ that,” Momolk pointed out. “We gots lucky, since yer mum knows the Maelstrom - and she knows Baderon real good, too-”

“-oi, OI, stop that, I’m beggin’ ye,” Baatar wailed. “Bad ‘nuff that I has to be lookin’ at mum or Baderon knowin’ - yech - anyhow - no. No more’ve that.”

“I find it odd, Baatarsaikhan, that you disapprove of your mother finding happiness in a man,” Xomni’to snorted, a tiny smile creeping across his mouth.

“Lookit, Baderon’ll be, like, a whole ten years younger’an mum, firsts. Second - I mean - Twelve, it’s Baderon,” Baatar whispered, glancing up at Baderon, who was well out of earshot. “The man’s a step or so ‘way from bein’ a pirate, t’say nothin’ ‘bout...whatever’n the hells he’s got with Momodi, no?”

“That’ll be their business, no?” Xomni’to countered. “They’re adults, the lot’ve ‘em - let’em do as they please.”

“Aye, and ‘s’not like mum got up yer arse ‘bout yer, ah, proclivities while we was at sea an’ abroad,” Momolk sniggered.

“Oh, goodness,” Kanna chuckled, a hand over her mouth. “Proclivities. That sounds...scandalous.”

“Hey, shut it, now, thank ye very much,” Baatar hissed. “We agreed ye wouldn’t be sayin’ nothin’ ‘bout such!”

“Actually, as I recall, you said, ahem, ‘not to be tellin’ mum, since she’d have me scales fer decoratin',’ if I have the way of it. Exact words, I’m sure’ve it,” Xomni’to noted dryly. “Nothin’ there ‘bout Kanna.”

Baatar opened her mouth, then shut it, expression growing uneasy. “Oi, I means it, don’t be sayin’ nothin’. Ah, ehe, like Baderon hisself says, we all makes mistakes, aye?”

“Ahh, I’ll say no more, but that’ll go on yer tab,” Momolk said, grinning. “Heh - ‘cept that Baatar’s as fiery a woman in bed as she is with that-”

“-OI! I SAYS TO BE STOPPIN’!” Baatar shouted - loudly enough that Baderon looked up from his cashbox.

“Hey, there a problem?” Baderon said, walking over with a concerned look. “If there’s trouble, take it outside - no repeats o’ yer old behaviour, aye?”

“No, no, there’ll be no trouble,” Kanna replied after she finished her tankard. “Well - well except that, good sir, I seem to find myself out of drink again.”

“Wait - wot? I hasn’t even finished my second,” Baatar noted, glancing into Kanna’s empty tankard. “Hows you finish ‘fore me?”

Kanna, skin flush and a relaxed, lopsided smile upon her face, simply beamed. “I - it would appear that I take to cool-beer better than you,” she said happily.

“Won’t that be a right surprise - I thoughts you weren’t a beer-drinker,” Baderon said, an eyebrow raised at Kanna.

“Ehe. Who knows! Maybe I can drink more cool-beer than Baatar here,” Kanna replied, grinning.

“Bollocks, more like.” Baatar drained her tankard and set it on the counter with a thud. “Another round, Baderon!”

Finishing their drinks, Xomni’to and Momolk both set their tankards down; Baderon collected all of the tankards, sent them sliding upon a tray into the kitchen and returned not long after with fresh drinks.

“A toast, then!” Kanna exclaimed. “To us!”

“Ah, come on, then, ye can’t be just sayin’ ‘to us,’ or summat,” Momolk replied, shaking her head. “That’ll have no glory to it. Ye has to mention our fine feats! Like, we killed a golem! And goobbues! And we...helped Staelwyrn, I s’pose?”

“To all of that, then,” Kanna grumbled, shaking her tankard and spilling a little of her beer. “You ruined my toast!”

“Only if you thinks it that way. Don’t be lettin’ Momo piss y’off,” Baatar snorted. “To us!”

The group drank, cheered slightly - and watched with amused surprise as Kanna did not, like the other three, set her drink down for several more seconds.

“Uh...ye don’t drink often, do ye,” Baatar asked.

“No, I don’t,” Kanna answered, wiping her mouth with the back of her robes. “Too busy, until now. Did you know,” she continued, leaning forward with both hands on her stool, “that - that the Bismarck’s staff - sometimes - sometimes they don’t leave until midnight? Even later?”

“Huh. No, I didn’t, actually,” Xomni’to replied thoughtfully. “Cooking sounds rather tough, frankly.”

“Tough? More than tough, I’ll have you know! Oh - and the work isn’t even the worst part. It’s the customers - ohhhh, they’re not all bad, but sometimes you get the ones who have to have everything. Just. So. And not even in the sensible use of the idea! If you’re food’s cold, we can fix that, no trouble - but, oh, no, Chef Minamoto, my stew hasn’t enough pepper - we put the pepper shakers on the table for a reason! Oh, kami, my heart - oooooh, sometimes, sometimes I just want to go out there and pop them on the head with my pans,” Kanna shouted, waving her hands in frustration - and swaying as soon as she took her hands from the stool. “Oh, goodness. Best to keep my hands upon my seat,” Kanna muttered, putting one hand back and another upon her tankard.

“Hehe. Since when does Kanna, most refined and learned of our group, threaten men with a strike with a pan, of all things?” Xomni’to said, chuckling slightly. “Taking lessons from Oyuun?”

“Oh I can’t even begin to imagine what sh - she puts up with,” Kanna said, waving her tankard around. “Or Baderon! The restaurant’s enough - bad enough - a tavern! Full of drunken louts and peop - people with no taste! At - at all! None!” With a heavy, long draw from her tankard, Kanna chugged down her drink once again and set it on the bar with enough force to rattle the other drinks.

“Uh….Kanna? Y’alright? Ye seem...upset,” Baatar said slowly.

“Ups - ooh, no, not upset, just frustrated, very frustrated sometimes,” Kanna muttered, swaying slightly despite her best efforts to keep herself still. “Before - before our adventuring there was liiiitle for me to do besides rest on my working days, and off - well, most weeks I had but a single day offff! So, of course,” she explained, her speech slowing down, “well, I - I usually just liked to sleep on that day, or be calm, and there’s not much space for a woman to vent those frustrationnns - I coouldn’t be clocking a customer in the face with a pan, riight?”

“I think we might be switchin’ yer drinks with water, now,” Baatar said, doing her best not to break out laughing at the sight of Kanna - usually the picture of prim, graceful propriety - being drunk in public.

“N-nonsensse,” Kanna stammered. “I am perfently fine, Baatarsaikhan.”

“Yup. Yer done,” Momolk sniggered. “We keep this up and sooner or later you’n’Baatar’ll be payin’ men to strip again.”

“Oi, hold it, you did the thing, too,” Baatar pointed out.

“Aye, but I ne’er did the thing again after Vesper,” Momolk scoffed.

“Oi - point, point,” Baatar conceded, scowling. “Anyroads! That’ll be it, Kanna - ye have to be buildin’ yer tolerance te drink, not jus’....doin’ it.”

“I - I’m fine! I don’t - don’t need - Baaderon!” Kanna shouted, looking for the man; he wasn’t behind the bar, and only seconds after leaning over her shoulder to see if he was in the dining area Kanna yelped slightly as she toppled off her stool, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

A few patrons in the tavern laughed, but most simply continued on with their buisness while Baatar and Momolk began to roar with laughter - even eliciting a few chuckles from Xomni’to.

“Oh, oh, Twelve, if we could be showin’ this moment again’n’again,” Baatar howled. “Kanna? Y’alright?” she asked, hoping off her stool and kneeling besides Kanna - who was rubbing her backside and wincing.

“Ffffine,” Kanna slurred. “Jus’ fine. Ooooh, that hurt.”

“A’right - enough laughin’ - we needs t’be getting y’upstairs. What’ll be yer room?”

Kanna attempted to get up on her own, nearly fell over again, then sighed as Baatar helped her shakily get to her feet. “F-four-twelve,” she managed to say, fumbling around her pouches before pulling a small keyring out. “It’s thhe silver one.”

Baatar took the keys, then stepped back. “Can ye be walkin’ straight, or does we have to be carryin’ ye?”

“I can walk just - ah!” Taking a few steps, Kanna nearly tripped, just managing to steady herself, her tail wobbling back and forth. “Maaaaaybe not.”

Baatar sniggered. “C’mere, Princess Kanna.” With a grunt, Baatar hoisted the much shorter woman over her shoulders, ignoring Kanna’s slurred protests, tossed her coinpurse at Momolk and shook her head. “Ye lot can be headin’ back home if ye like, freshen up an’ such. I’ll carry Kanna up.

“Wot, ye don’t wants more drink?” Momolk asked.

“Naw, not now, anyhows - plus, if I wants more, we’s got plenty at home,” Baatar replied.

“You want anything else for when you’re home? Food, or the like?” Xomni’to asked.

“Eh - if Oyuun’s made those pies or summat, sure? Otherwise - ye know, I’ll eat whatever’s there.” With a jaunty wave, Momolk walked over to the waitress manning the cashier and settled the group’s bill before she and Xomni’to took off - and with a hearty grin, made her way over to the entrance to the Mizzenmast Inn’s long-term apartments, which stood to the right of the doors leading to the short-term rooms. Nudging the door open with her foot, Baatarsaikhan began carrying Kanna up the long, narrow, winding stairwell to the fourth floor. Kanna’s complaints had begun to fade into incoherent ramblings at this point, and Baatar didn’t even bother to hide her laughter.

“Ye know,” Baatar said, snorting, “yer not as heavy as ye look.”

“Hhheavy? I’m...very fit...for a cook,” Kanna managed. “Did - your hair is very long, did you know that?”

“Yes,” Baatar replied, laughing. “I’m aware that me hair’s long. I see’t every day when I checks the mirror.”

“Yyyyou could pick a neww styling,” Kanna mumbled. “Very un - unk - unkempt.”

“That’ll be the point, aye. I don’t thinks ‘bout it.”

“Eheehehee, I - I bet - I betcha your hair - it’s like grapes!”

“Kanna, I’d be givin’ me left pinky to put ye words on record, I would,” Baatar sighed as she came to the door on the fourth floor; she opened it, shaking her head. “You’ll never be believin’ me when I says this t’ye when yer sober.”

“N-nooope! I - hic - I won’t!” Kanna exclaimed proudly. “Not. A. Word!”

“Piss. A right shame, that’ll be - hold up. Silver key, you says?” Baatar asked, coming to a stop in front of Kanna’s room. “One sec - and here.” Shifting Kanna slightly to better fish through the dozen or so keys dangling from the ring, Baatar unlocked the door and opened it; the apartment inside was fairly small, at least compared to the one that was shared between her family; there was a small combined kitchenette-living room by the front door with a few spots for seats, a door leading into a tiny bathroom which bore a toilet and shower, and a much smaller bedroom behind the living room, the door to which was open.

The apartment as a whole was sparsely decorated; a few paintings of the sea sat upon the walls, and nestled between two of the three chairs in the living room was a small altar that was foreign in design and shape to Baatar. Still, it was a cozy, lived-in-space, and Baatarsaikhan could not help but feel as though she were intruding slightly.

“Bbbeeeed,” Kanna mumbled.

“Yes, ma’am.” Baatar carried the squirming woman over to her bedroom; inside, there was a comfortable-looking bed covered in blankets, perhaps slightly smaller than what Baatar would have preferred, as well as a dressing-desk, a closet, and a well-stocked bookshelf full of books that Baatar didn’t recognize. Two racks sat atop the bed, and as Baatar laid Kanna upon the bed the younger woman grumbled something and pointed up at the racks.

“Yer swords?” Baatar asked.

“Mmmmf,” Kanna replied; with a great deal of frustration and effort Kanna managed to undo the metal band around her waist, passing it over to Baatar; she pulled the scabbards off the belt of the band, placed each in the rack above the bed, and set the band down on the desk.

“So?” Baatar asked, doing her best to not resume laughing as she watched Kanna squirm out of her robes without really using her arms like some sort o f worm. “Ye want water or summat?”

“Hrrrrmfhm,” Kanna replied, her head stuck in her robes; Baatar helped pull them off, and set them on the desk with the band.

“Water. I ken,” Baatar sniggered, heading over to the kitchenette; she found several metal mugs by the sink, filled one with water and brought it over to Kanna - who, in her underclothes and flopping about her blankets trying to make them comfortable, really did resemble a demented worm. She gazed up at Baatar with unfocused, bleary eyes, and managed to miss the mug by a solid distance on her first attempt to grab at it; Baatar pressed the mug into her hands, shaking her head.

“Easy. Ye drinks too fast, you’ll hurl, and I’s not here to clean yer puke up,” Baatar cautioned.

Kanna - who was eying the water eagerly - drank slowly, stopping a few moments later to stare at Baatar.

Baatar stared back, an eye raised. “Uh…..y’alright?”

“You haf a loottta muuuscles,” Kanna managed.

“Yes. Yes I do. I’s a strong woman,” Baatar replied, chuckling. “Yer a strong woman too, Kanna. Though...maybe ease up on the beer, next time, eh?”

“It was ffffun,” Kanna mumbled. “A-ad-adventuring with you three.”

“Well, I’s glad ye thinks so. I has to be sayin’, I thought it’d be the hells of a lot worse - but I’m glad I did the thing.”

Kanna nodded as she sipped at her water, before her eyes brightened. “Are you hugnry? I’m reaaaaaly hungry.”

“Ye just ate. Try summat tomorrow, maybe.”

“Uuuugh.” With another groan, Kanna returned to her water, finished it, then - before Baatar could take it - dropped it on the ground before dropping face-first into her pillow. Within moments she was snoring away peacefully, tail snaking back and forth lazily; Baatar chuckled to herself and covered her up with a blanket before patting Kanna on the back.

“Sleep tight, then,” Baatar snorted; she made her way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her; once she was back out in the hallway she locked the door and slid the key through the space between the door and the ground.

Not long after, Baatar returned home to find Momolk in the living room of the apartment, dressed in casual clothing and happily reading a book; Momolk waved as Baatar unlocked the door.

“Oh, yer back? How’s our fine swordswoman farin’?” Momolk asked.

“Ah, she’ll be fine. Once she were outta her robes an' in her bed - like that! She were fast asleep - took’er a minute, maybe less.”

“Awww, no hot, steamy romance twixt the two’ve ye? No drunken confession?” Momolk teased. "The twos've you didn't do no serious talkin' 'bout yer futures or nothin'?"

Baatar snorted. “Naw - she could barely be puttin’ words together - and I hads to be helpin’ her get herself undressed, so shut it. Where’s Xomni?” Baatar asked as she unslung her axe and unbuckled her belt, leaving it on the kitchen table.

“Out gettin’ some drawin’-graphite,” Momolk said, shrugging. “Somethin’ ‘bout wantin’ to do some drawin’, he says.”

“Queer. He’s never done drawin’ or the like,” Baatar noted, scratching her butt with her tail. “Anyhows - ye wants to be stayin’ home or summat? I’s thinkin’ I could clean meself up, wash me stuff, relax a tad then we could go t’Uldah or the like.”

“Oho, now there’s a plan,” Momolk agreed, nodding vigorously. “Go on, then - hurry yer bath up!”

Baatar grinned and set off for the baths, her axe’s haft behind her head and her arms stretched around it, humming to herself as she set out to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 

**7TH SUN OF THE FIRST ASTRAL MOON**   
**YEAR 5 OF THE SEVENTH UMBRAL ERA**   
**Limsa Lominsa**

“Well I were going t’ask Baatar if she wanted t’be comin’ long with us,” Momolk muttered as she and Xomni’to - both fully dressed - stood before Baatarsaikhan - who was laying on her stomach in her bed, pillows firmly piled over her head, snoring loudly as the tip of her tail flicked lazily from where it poked out of the blankets. “But, uh, we’s the day free, eh? We can be comin’ back later if we needs her.”

“Hrm. Perhaps we should let her sleep in, for once,” Xomni’to replied. “Besides - if we’re doing work at the Arcanists’ Guild, I doubt Baatar’ll be happy about the arrangement.”

“Eh - likes I says. We needs her ‘round for summat, we come back and I hits her with a broom like normal,” Momolk replied.

“Should probably leave her a note, though,” Xomni’to noted. “Ah - maybe we oughtta check in on Kanna?”

“Prolly fine, I wager,” Momolk replied with a shrug.

“Come on - you could test out your latest cure, no?” Xomni’to noted.

“Ah - hrm. The last batch...that weren’t so good,” Momolk muttered sheepishly.

“Okay, but that time Baatar was drunk enough to be throwing up before she fell asleep,” Xomni’to pointed out. “Frankly I’d wager she’d’ve been in poor shape, drink or no.”

Momolk sighed, and scratched her head. “I s’pose. Just don’t wanna be, y’know, makin’ poor Kanna sick or nothin’.”

“Ye don’t have t’be givin’ her the whole bottle or nothing.”

“Works best that way, though. It’ll be a right pain in th’arse to do records that way - everyone’s drunk the whole bottle, otherwise.”

“Everyone?” Xomni’to scoffed. “That’ll be...T’thoruma, Baatar an’ Arnar? Three’s not a crowd.”

“Oh, piss off. One day I’ll make the thing work - you write that note and I’ll see where I put the damn bottle in the kitchen.”

So it was that, not long later, Momolk and Xomni’to made their way over to the Drowning Wench and ascended the stairway into the Mizzenmast Inn’s apartments; they stopped in front of Kanna’s room, and Xomni’to knocked gently on the door.

“Bollocks to this,” Momolk sighed. “I bet ye she’s not even up.”

“Doubt it. She seems the sort who keeps a schedule,” Xomni’to replied, shrugging. “Listen.”

Momolk pressed her ear to the door and nodded in surprise as she heard someone stumbling towards the door; it opened a few moments later to reveal Kanna, her white-pink hair unstyled and messy, wearing a blanket around herself. Bleary, unfocused eyes flitted between the two, and Kanna sighed.

“Morning,” she muttered. “What...what time is it?”

“Seven in the morning,” Xomni’to offered. “And - good morning to you too. We just wanted to make sure you were okay - apologies if we woke you.”

“Aye - how ye feelin’, eh?” Momolk asked.

“Not...not particularly well, no, but I am not in any pain, either. Come on in, then.” Kanna shuffled back into her apartment and gestured at the chairs in the living room. “Please, seat yourselves, if you would like - I have a kettle on and shall be making some tea.”

“Oh, right!” Momolk reached into her satchel and pulled out a tall, thin vial; she passed it to Xomni’to, who set it on the kitchen counter. “Hangover cure - I was thinking it might help.”

“C...cure? Will this be the same cure, Momolk, that Baatarsaikhan speaks of in hushed, dreaded whispers?” Kanna replied, expression amused. “If so, I hope you will find no offense in my wanting to stay well clear of it.”

“Well, you don’t have t’be drinkin’ it. But I has done some refinin’,” Momolk said with a shrug.

“Perhaps I shall take a little bit of it, then,” Kanna muttered, eying the vial suspiciously. “A moment - I shall return after I am more proper.”

Momolk and Xomni’to watched Kanna disappear into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her; the two looked at one another and shrugged as they sat down on the chairs in the living-room.

“Oi, Kanna,” Momolk shouted, “yer place is pretty small, eh?”

“It serves me well,” Kanna replied, her voice muffled through the door. “What few possessions I have fit here easily, and in truth I do not think that a mere upgrade in size for an apartment would suit my needs.”

“Really?” Xomni’to replied. “What, you don’t want more space? I thought you were lookin’ for a place to be movin’ to.”

“Yes - I desire somewhere with a garden, or balcony of some sort,” Kanna said; she reappeared, dressed now in a set of simple robes as she ran her hands through her hair. “I have little need for more space indoors,”

“If ye don’t mind me askin’, hows yer gil? I’d like to be thinkin’ we’re friends enough to be knowin’ so,” Momolk asked.

“More than well, really. I spend very little of my money, you know.” Kanna shrugged as she took the kettle from the stove and set it aside on the counter, filling a teapot and fetching three mugs. “I’d like a house, I think. A nice, large garden to work in. Flowers to cultivate and plants to grow. That would be nice.”

“Might be tough,” Xomni’to muttered. “Unless you want to be buildin’ a place, there’s not much land left for housing like you want, not any more.”

“Weren’t the Maelstrom workin’ on getting some space in Lower La Noscea set up fer houses or summat?” Momolk offered, scratching her head. “Swore I read so in the papers a while back.”

“Yes, that is the case - the Admiral herself said as much,” Kanna answered, expression inquisitive as she picked up the vial of blue-green liquid from the counter. She popped the cork and sniffed at it, a frown spreading across her face. “Smells...strange. Momolk, what exactly is in this?”

“That’ll be a secret. And ‘sides, if I told everyone what were in it, that might be colourin’ yer reaction,” Momolk replied proudly.

“If it is alright, I will just have a sip and see about that before drinking the rest.”

“Eh, fine by me,” Momolk sighed as she pulled a notepad and graphite from her satchel. She watched eagerly as Kanna took a small drink from the vial, eyes widening as Kanna’s expression turned sour.

“That,” Kanna muttered, re-corking the vial, “might truly be the vilest thing I have ever consumed in my life. The initial taste is like mint, not unpleasant, no - but then the flavour turns to...I can only describe it as spoiled custard.”

“And? How d’ye feel? Less hungover?”

“I….no, not particularly. In fact, my stomach feels a little upset. Not much, but whatever this concoction is I don’t think it works.”

“Ah, ye gotta wait, maybe.”

“Fair enough,” Kanna said, taking one of the mugs by the teapot and filling it with water from the sink. “I will not be drinking any more of that...elixir of yours,” she added, tossing the vial back to Momolk.

“Shame. So? Ye got plans fer today?” Momolk asked, tucking the vial back into her satchel.

“Well, no, not particularly, Most of my plans more or less revolve around following you two and Baatarsaikhan,” Kanna pointed out with a dry smile. “That is why I came to Eorzea, you know. Where is she, anyway? Asleep, I presume?”

“It’s only seven in the morning,” Xomni’to snorted. “Unless there’s something important going on - and even then, depending - getting Baatar up before noon generally requires a great deal of effort.”

“Or a broom,” Momolk added, tapping her head. “Aye, I thought it out - first, ye poke her in the sides with a broom-stick, and that’ll usually get ‘er up real quick-like. Otherwise, ye switch ends. It’ll be the bristles, see - she don’t like that on ‘er face.”

Kanna laughed lightly, shaking her head. “You know, my visions portrayed a bunch of heroic looking adventurers - not once was I shown you, Momolk, sweeping Baatarsaikhan’s face with a broom to get her out of bed.”

“Full glad ‘m I that you didn’t see such,” Xomni’to added, chuckling. “See that, and I’d wager you’d not have come to Eorzea at all.”

“Will the two of you take tea with me?” Kanna asked.

“Sure. Ye got milks an’ sugar?”

“I do, Momolk - I’ll fetch some for you.” Kanna poured tea from the pot into each of the mugs and brought them over to the tiny seating area in front of the kitchenette, before taking a spoon and sugar-box from her drawers, and a small pot of milk out of her icebox, setting both down in front of Momolk. Watching the lalafellin woman fill her half-full mug all the way to the top with milk, then mix in several heaping spoonfuls of sugar, Kanna shook her head and sighed.

“If you wanted sugared milk, Momolk, I could have whipped some up for you,” Kanna said, grinning as Momolk - scowling - mixed her drink.

“You - not a word, Xomni! I’ll take my teas how I like, damn ye, Kanna. I like me drinks sweet. How’ll that be a problem?”

“Ha! It’s not a problem - personally you can enjoy the drink as you like, in my opinion. But, ah, plenty of my old colleagues back at the Bismarck have much stronger opinions on the matter,” Kanna explained in between sips of her tea. “Order any of the fancier teas - or coffees - at the Bismarck and adulterate your drink like so and I guarantee there will be unkind whispers about your tastes within the kitchen.”

“Bollocks, more like. I pays for the drink, I can be doin’ as I like with’t,” Momolk muttered darkly. “If I wants t’be puttin’ the shite into soup, that’ll be my choice.”

“I enjoy how upset this makes you,” Xomni’to noted. “Of all the things you take a stand upon, your sweet tooth might very well be the most amusing.”

“Piss off.” Momolk took another swig of her tea then rolled her eyes. “Anyroads - we’ll be headed to our guild today, see if there’s not work we can be doin’ - ye wanna come?”

“I don’t see why not,” Kanna replied with a shrug. “If, of course, your Guildmaster will not mind my being there?”

“No, she’ll not mind - having extra help, especially if we’re doing fieldwork, means less worrying on her part,” Xomni’to explained.

“Very well, then.” Kanna finished her tea with several long swigs and set her mug down, getting up and nodding. “If you will allow me a bit of time to shower and make myself ready to go out, I will be happy to accompany you.”

 

Several minutes later, Kanna emerged from the bathroom wearing her black fighting-robes, her white, pink-tipped hair carefully worked into its usual two-tailed styling.

“So,” Kanna said, heading into her bedroom and returning with her metal waist-belt and her swords, “to your guild, then?”

“Aye, that’ll be the plan,” Momolk confirmed as Kanna put on her belt on and slid her scabbards into their holsters. “Come on, then, let’s be going.”

The Molkohs left the apartment first, Kanna following behind; she locked the door as she left, and the group made their way out of the Mizzenmast, passed through the Drowning Wench and walked to the aetheryte station in the Aftcastle. A quick teleport later, the group arrived outside the Arcanists’ Guild, and entered to find the guild’s lobby full of cargo inspectors and arcanists working at the desks. Murie, the guild’s hyuran receptionist, waved at the Molkohs, regarding Kanna with interest.

“Momolk, Xomni’to - a fine morning to you,” Murie said, shouting to be heard over the din of the other conversations going on. “Who’s that with you?”

“This’ll be Kanna Minamoto,” Momolk said as the group walked over to Murie’s desk. “Works at the Bismarck, does th’adventurin’ with us.”

“Ah - a pleasure to meet you then, Miss Minamoto. Murie Turner, at your service,” the black-haired woman said with a small bow.

“The pleasure is mine,” Kanna said, smiling as she took in the guild around her. “I must say - I was aware that this was both a guild of magic and cargo inspection - but I do not think I ever quite grasped how...busy, things are here.”

“Magic and customs both require papercraft,” Murie replied with a smirk. “Lots of it, in the latter case. Anyhow - Xomni, Momo, I gather you’re here to see the guildmaster?”

“What, is he actually in for once?” Xomni’to answered, a brow raised.

“What? Oh, no, of course not,” Murie replied with a sigh. “It’s just Thubyrgeim - trust me, if K’rhid actually deigned to grace the guild with his presence the celebrations would be loud enough to shake the damn city.”

“Wait,” Kanna interjected. “Does the guildmaster not… you know, run the guild?”

“Nope,” Momolk replied, shrugging. “I’s seen the man once in me life, frankly. He’ll be more concerned with roaming the lands an’ shite - he wanders the realm doin’... stuff.”

“Stuff,” Kanna echoed, expression confused.

“Researching natural manifestations of arcane geometries, I think was the way he put it last time he was here,” Murie pointed out. “Anyway - Guildmaster Guldweitzwyn is in the back of the library running some tests, if you want to see her.”

“If she’s busy, you need not bother her,” Xomni’to noted. “We were just wondering if there was any work we could help with.”

“Oh - oh! Yes, there’s plenty of work available. Give me a moment to check my books,” Murie said, leafing through one of the massive tomes on her desk. “Ah - here! K’lyhia actually needs an armed escort; she’s looking into a group of goblins suspected of dealing in black market goods later today.”

“Ah, that sounds perfect. We haven’t worked with K’lyhia in a while,” Xomni’to said, nodding. “Where is she?”

“Downstairs - last I heard she was hanging around one of the training pits.”

With a wave, the group left the reception desk and walked down the main stairwell which sat to the right of the guild’s entrance and descended into the training area; Kanna took in the sight of the dozens of arcanists summoning familiars and casting spells with obvious, wide-eyed interest.

“Arcanima catch your fancy, hmm?” Xomni’to asked, smiling slightly.

“Honestly, as someone who knows little about the actual mechanics behind your magistry,” Kanna replied as the group arrived at the bottom of the stairs, “I cannot help but find the idea of learning more about all… all this, quite fascinating.”

“You’ve magic in Hingashi, no?” Momolk frowned, and crossed her arms.

“Indeed, yes, - fūsui - geomancy would be the closest Eorzean term, I believe,” Kanna answered. “But, having tried my hand at it, I find I have no talent whatsoever at it.”

“Talent’s got nothin’ t’do with’t,” Momolk replied sourly. “Fer thaumaturgy ‘n conjury, sure. Same fer advanced arcanima - but the basics, anyfolk can be doin’. Yer no Garlean, so aether’ll be no problem for ye - maybe ye might not be usin’ complex arrays or the like, but even Baatar can fumble ‘er way through a Physick array.”

“Perhaps I could give it a try,” Kanna mused, “when we have some spare time. I suppose it would not hurt to take a shot at it, anyhow.”

“Aye, sounds like a plan,” Xomni’to added, scanning each of the training areas until he paused and nodded. “Ah - there we go. Come on - let’s not keep K'lyhia waiting.” He set off, Momolk and Kanna following behind, as he walked over to one of the training pits at the far end of the basement; a young, lavender-haired miqo’te woman clad in blue robes and sporting a hefty set of spectacles was sitting on the floor of the pit, a small mountain of parchments set out before her.

“K’lyhia,” Xomni’to said, waving as they approached. “You need an escort for work today?”

K’lyhia looked up from her papers, expression flat as she took in the trio walking towards her. She muttered to herself for several moments, then got to her feet, meeting the group outside the pit itself.

“Xomni’to, Momolk, a pleasure to meet you once again,” she said in a cheerful tone. “I am afraid I find myself unaware of your personage, ma’am,” she added, her tone growing stiff as she offered a hand to Kanna. “K'lyhia Yudah, at your service.

“Kanna Minamoto,” Kanna replied, shaking her hand. “I worked at the Bismarck, though at the moment I am something of a… wandering adventurer of sorts, in the company of Xomni’to, Momolk and their sister Baatarsaikhan.”

K’lyhia shook Kanna’s hand for a little longer than Kanna was comfortable with before retracting her hand and examining the group for several seconds in silence.

“Everthin’ a’right?” Momolk asked. “Somethin’ on me face?”

“There is nothing on your face,” K’lyhia replied, expression confused.

“Joke, K’lyhia.”

“Ah.” K’lyhia sighed, and shook her head. “I find that, not being in your regular company, my ability to discern when you are being serious and when you speak in jest has diminished somewhat. In any case - yes, I do require an armed escort.”

“What’s the job? Can’t be a routine inspection,” Xomni’to noted, “if you’ll be wanting some swords at your side.”

“No, not a routine inspection,” K’lyhia confirmed, nodding as she flipped her grimoire open and began analyzing a page. “There is a goblin family of merchants who call themselves the Boilstox; they are suspected of dealing in contraband goods. By even the most basic of inferences I deduced that the chances of such being true are well above ninety percent - and the likelihood of there being a violent response to my goal of seizing any contraband being even more likely. Given that my arcanima is less than suited to defeating multiple attackers, I decided that it would be best to enlist the help of an armed escort, so that our collective combat capabilities might surpass theirs.”

“Fair ‘nuff. D’ye want t’be goin’ now?” Momolk asked.

“Sooner, rather than later, yes. The Boilstox are currently being held up outside of the city, but the odds mount by the bell that they could easily slip past the posted guards at Zephyr Gate at any time, frankly,” K’lyhia replied, clear distaste creeping into her voice. “Thanks to the damages wrought by the cataclysmic force of the Calamity, Limsa Lominsa’s security net has more holes in it than Iyrntoum’s Twenty-Six Treatises when faced with scrutiny.”

“Really? I can see a handful of Goblins being able to sneak into the city, certainly, but with their cargo in tow?” Kanna asked, frowning. “Is that really the case?”

“Yes, they-!” K’lyhia started to speak, but she suddenly halted mid-sentence, her expression furrowing in thought before she continued at a far slower pace, prior emotion draining from her face and tone. “Assuming that the Boilstox already have buyers waiting for them in the city, it is a simple matter of having their contacts ready and waiting at their point of entry to disappear with the goods,” she explained dryly. “Once contraband is actually within the city limits, finding it becomes nigh-impossible - thus the importance of moving swiftly to ensure said goods do not enter the city in the first place.”

Kanna blinked in shock at the sudden change in the miqo’te’s countenance, but the Molkohs ignored it utterly, with Momolk forging right on. “Alright, fair enough. Should we be fetching Baatarsaikhan, then? If there’s skulls to be crackin’, she’ll be the best one for it, no?”

“An additional ally would contribute greatly to our combat readiness and overall efficacy,” K’lyhia agreed. “If one of you wishes to fetch her, the rest of us will wait by the Zephyr Gate and prepare to intercept and inspect the Boilstox.”

“I’ll go,” Momolk offered. “I’s the best at wakin’ the lazy shite up, anyhow.”

“If it is alright, I would like to come as well,” Kanna added hastily.

“Very well. Xomni’to and I will meet you at the Zephyr Gate in - in half a bell’s time. I assume that will be sufficient time to wake Baatarsaikhan?”

“It’ll be so,” Momolk replied, smirking. “I’ll make sure’ve’t. Come on, Kanna - let’s be goin’."

With a nod and a wave Kanna followed Momolk as the lalafellin woman bounded up the stairs, and once the two were outside they walked over to the aetheryte shard outside the guild and teleported over to the Fishermans’ Guild. Once they re-materialized, the pair began to walk back towards Terbish’s clinic in silence. They were about halfway there when Momolk heaved a weary sigh and started massaging the bridge of her nose.

“I know, I know. You’ll be wantin’ t’ask ‘bout what’s wrong with the lass, or summat, eh?” Momolk grumbled.

“Well - well I would not have put it that way, necessarily,” Kanna hedged uncomfortably.

“Well I would, and I am. Fact is, there's something wrong with the lass, I just dunno what, specifically, anyhow.” Momolk replied, sighing. “Just - she’ll just be a queer person, I think. Not mean, or nothin’ - she won’t be meanin’ harm t’ye. K’lhyia’s just not, well...” the lalafell waved her hands helplessly for a second before pointing at Kanna’s sword. “Look, y’ever find yerself needing t’simplify what yer sayin’ whenever you’re talking’ ‘bout yer bladework or somesuch?”

“I suppose?”

“Well from what Xomni’n’I have gathered, that’s what K’lyhia has t’be doin’ whenever she talks t’anyone who isn’t an arcanist, or is even an ilm less intelligent than she’ll be.” Momolk shook her head sadly. “K’lyhia’s brilliant, Navigator bless her, but her whole life is literally naught but arcanima. The only way she can be talkin’ all normal-like with other folks is if she thinks real hard ‘bout it, pickin’ her words to guarantee that y’understand.”

Kanna paused in the middle of the street, lost in thought for a moment, before shrugging. “I cannot say I really follow. Not precisely, anyhow. But - I get the gist of it, I think. I shall be sure to keep your words in mind.” She sighed, and followed after Momolk as they arrived outside Terbish’s clinic - empty, with a sign noting that he was out of the city for the day. “In any case - for some reason I cannot imagine that Baatar gets along well with K’ylhia.”

“There’s a fuckin’ understatement,” Momolk muttered as she pulled her keyring from her tunic and unlocked the door using the second set of handles and locks closer to the ground. “They’re...let’s just be sayin’ Baatar puts up with K’ylhia, and that’s after a long, long time between the two’ve ‘em. We thinks she just don’t understand that K’lyhia doesn’t talk down to her to make fun’ve ‘er, but ‘cause it’s the only way she can talk, ken?”

“I understand, yes. All this being said, I cannot help but feel like today might be… ah, messy. In both interpretations of the word.”

Momolk shrugged, and pushed her way into the clinic. “Fun that way, y’ask me.”

Upstairs in their apartment, Kanna followed Momolk into the bedroom she shared with Xomni’to and Baatar; Baatar was still fast asleep beneath a mountain of pillows and rolled up in her blankets, snoring loudly and her tail swishing from where it poked out.

“OI! HORNFACE! WAKE UP!” Momolk shouted at the top her lungs. “Sun's up, ye shite!”

Baatar’ snore ceased for a split second and her tail stopped moving - but only for a moment, and soon enough she was snoring once again.

“I shall fetch a broom,” Kanna sighed in resignation.

“No need,” Momolk said, reaching beneath her low-slung bed and pulling a long broomstick out. With an audible grunt she hefted the broom up and prodded Baatar in the stomach, hard enough that Baatar shook herself awake.

“Fuckin’ - enough! Enough with the brooms!” Baatar shouted, easing herself into a sitting position, the mountain of pillows piled atop her head falling around her. “Twelve! I’m awake!”

“Shame,” Momolk groused, tossing the broom back under her bed. “Didn’t even get t’do the brushin’ on yer face t’show Kanna.”

“Kanna?” Baatar mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. “Oh - OH! Uh, hehe, mornin’ t’ya, Kanna,” Baatar said, scratching her head sheepishly as Kanna smiled and nodded in return. “How’re ye feelin’?”

“Quite well, as a matter of fact. Thank you for, ah, escorting me to my room last night,” Kanna said, rubbing at her horns. “I appreciate it.”

“No trouble. Anyhow - what’s this ‘bout showin’ things t’Kanna, eh?” Baatar asked, stifling a yawn.

“Oh - I was tellin’ her how the fastest way t’be gettin’ y’up is t’be brushin’ yer face with the broom,” Momolk explained eagerly.

“Piss off,” Baatar spat as she stretched and got out of bed. “Touch me face with that shite and I’ll boot y’outta the window.”

“Does it work, though?” Kanna asked, giggling. “I imagine it must, if it elicits that strong a reaction.”

“Hey, you try havin’ broom-bristles on yer face,” Baatar muttered, shuddering as she eyed the pair in front of her.

“Could switch’t up, eh? Next time,” Momolk offered with a smirk, “I’ll have me Carbuncle do a jig on yer face.”

“Boot - in - your - arse,” Baatar ground out. “What’s with the garb, anyhow? We doin’ work?”

“Yes, actually. Xomni’to and Momolk’s guildmate K’ylhia requested our assistance with an inspection, as a matter of fact,” Kanna explained.

“Fuckin’ - alright, fine, fine. Gimme a second to kit meself up an’ I”ll join yer lil’ party,” Baatar groaned.

“Ye sure?” Momolk asked. “Ye don’t have t’be doin’ it.”

“Naw, naw, it’ll be fine. Jus’ - you know the two’ve us don’t quite ken another.” With another sigh, Baatar began digging through her drawers, retrieving a simple tunic and pants and laying them out on the bed. “Anyroads - what kind’ve inspectin’ are we doin’ that needs guns and swords, eh?”

“Boilstox? Name ring any bells?” Momolk offered.

“Aye, I know’t,” Baatar replied as she stripped out of her pajamas and into fresh clothes. “Wyrnzoen mentioned the name, I thinks. Buncha goblin-folk what sell black-market shite, no?”

“Summat like so,” Momolk replied, nodding. “K’hylia said they’re being held up outside the city, and that we’ll be there as muscle ‘case things the Boilstox don’t take kindly t’us seizing their contraband.”

“Which, according to K’lyhia, seems likely. She says the chances of an altercation happening are above ninety percent,” Kanna added. “How she came to a numeric figure, I cannot say, but evidently she is trusted enough to be a Foreseer for the guild.”

“Naw, if she has the numbers, she’ll prolly have the right’a things,” Baatar replied sourly as she tossed her pajamas onto her unkempt bed and began strapping on her armour. “Best we be there, really - I’ll be happy t’be helpin’. But if there’s paperwork or forms or summat, I’s not helping ye fill that shite in, y’hear?”

“Prolly you’d fuck it up anyhows,” Momolk scoffed.

“Aye. Paperwork,” Baatar repeated distastefully. “What a load’a shite.”

“A necessary evil,” Kanna offered. “And I imagine with all the goods going in and out of Limsa Lominsa, the city finds itself in need of capable scribes, accountants and the like.”

Baatar shrugged with casual indifference; soon enough she had finished putting on her gear, and after holstering her sawn-off shot-guns and slinging her axe around her shoulders she gave her chestplate and various pouches a pat-check before nodding; Momolk and Kanna were out of the bedroom when Baatar paused by the door, where Xomni'to's desk was. A small pile of parchments, as well as various inkpots, quills and drawing-graphite sat in orderly rows upon the desk; the parchments all bore various sketches of a miqo'te who Baatar thought looked very much like Y'shtola, though she wasn't certain.

"Oi, you comin' or not?" Momolk shouted from the kitchen.

“A’right, gimme a second! Where we meetin’ Xomni’n K’ylhia?” Baatar asked as the group left the aparment.

“Zephyr Gate,” Momolk replied; she checked one of the wall-mounted chronometers - which read half-past ten in the morning - as they descended the stairs and hummed contentedly to herself. “On time, too. I said we’d be takin’ half a bell, thinkin’ we’d be havin’ t’do the works to get y’up, what with it not being noon anyhow.”

“Do you really sleep in until noon when you have days off?” Kanna asked, expression and tone bewildered.

“I do me best,” Baatar replied proudly. “Sleep’s good for the body, so I hear.”

Momolk, Kanna and Baatarsaikhan found K'lyhia and Xomni’to standing against a wall to the side of Zephyr Gate and the bridge beyond, chatting to each other; Xomni’to was the one who noticed the group coming, and waved them over. K'lyhia nodded at Momolk and Kanna, then paused before doing the same to Baatar.

“Baatarsaikhan,” K'lyhia said slowly, tone neutral and expression flat.

“K'lyhia,” Baatar replied, sighing. “Fine day t’ye.”

“Yes, it is quite nice today. I assume Momolk filled you in on the details?” K'lyhia asked, eyes searching Baatar’s face.

“Aye, she did. I assume you, Xomni ‘n Momolk’ll be doin’ the talkin’, while me ‘n Kanna stand lookin’ all tough-like?”

“That is correct,” K’lyhia replied, nodding eagerly. “Ideally, the two of you will be positioned to ensure that none of the Boilstox family is capable of escaping, at least at first. Once we have encircled the group and hemmed them in, you and Kanna will shift your positions to draw enemy attention onto yourselves, while Momolk, Xomni’to and I alternate between carrying out healing duties and prioritizing the elimination of immediate threats via focused direct-action spells.”

“Hem? Shite, how big’s this family, eh? I know goblins pump out more’ve their own kin all quick-like, but still,” Baatar groused.

“Well - the family itself, as far as I am aware, numbers roughly one dozen. Of course,” K’lyhia continued, “this does not preclude the very real possibility - I would wager far above seventy-five percent - that the ‘Boilstox’ name extends to other goblins working in the family’s employ, whether as escorts, smugglers, or the like. We should, thus, be prepared to deal with a rather large number of potential foes.”

“Ahh, shite. Well, we can scope the goblins out, prep ambush positions or summat,” Momolk offered. “Come on, then - ye can be takin’ us to where they are, K'lyhia.”

The group then set out, crossing the long bridge towards the mainland of Middle La Noscea, making way occasionally for the odd chocobo-wagon heading out of town. Soon enough, with the midday sun overhead, the group arrived at the far end of the bridge and walked over to one of the Yellowjacket guards manning a checkpoint on the incoming-traffic side of the bridge.

“Ho there, Foreseer,” the guard - a well-built lalafellin man with a bushy beard - said, waving at the group. “This your escort?”

“Yes, guardsman,” K’lyhia replied, pointing towards a nearby grassy hill. “I was informed that the Boilstox were told to remain within view of the bridge?”

“Aye,” the guard answered, scowling. “Buggers fecked off behind the hill - guards on the other side’ o the way ‘round the Skylift, they say they’re just hanging ‘round the Cookpot, last they checked.”

“So our goblin friends have simply...gone around the hill to remain out of sight, and away from the city’s entrance?” Kanna asked. “In the absence of other knowledge, I find that worrying.”

“You’n me both, lady. You lot be careful, ken?”

“We will, guardsman. Thank you.” With a curt nod K’lyhia led the group a little further down the main road, and frowned, brow furrowing in thought.

“Well this’ll be a load’a piss,” Baatar grumbled. “Why’d they run ‘round the hill, but not all the way t’the Skylift? Why run if they’s not escapin’?”

“That, Baatarsaikhan, is an excellent question - and a source of worry indeed. Perhaps it would be best if one of us were to go far to the east and swing around the goblins, with the goal of laying sight upon them by a spyglass?” K’lyhia’s eyes flitted back and forth between the others for several moments before she pulled a collapsing spyglass from her satchel and handed it to Kanna.

“Very well - I shall return forthwith,” Kanna said as she took the spyglass and took off into the distance. She returned a few minutes later, frowning.

“So?” Xomni’to asked, expression inquisitive. “What are they up to?”

“Nothing,” Kanna replied, perplexed. “There’s - there’s twenty of them, all just - just sitting around their crates. In fact, the group isn’t doing anything, as far as I can tell.” She handed the spyglass back to K’lyhia, and nodded. “Armaments-wise - daggers, mostly, though I am certain the group has no shortage of grenades in stock.”

“Hmm. Well, I don’t think this’ll be changin’ our strategy,” Xomni’to pointed out. “I think our best bet’s still to hem the group in and be ready for a fight.”

“Fine by me,” Baatar said, shrugging. “Let’s not be keepin’ our friends waitin’ then, eh?”

Leading the way forward, Baatar and the others crossed the bridge over the Rogue River and crept up to the banks of the Agelyss; as they approached the water, Baatar hissed at the others and motioned for them to lay down in a large patch of tall grass.

“There,” Baatar muttered, pointing across the river; there, hanging around the corner of a semi-circular rock formation that had picked up the nickname of the ‘Cookpot,’ were the Boilstox goblins. The small crowd of squat, masked creatures were sitting around their piles of goods, chattering amongst themselves excitedly - and unaware of the group spying on them. “How you wanna do this, eh?”

“We do not want the goblins to run at our approach,” K’lyhia murmured. “Allow Xomni’to, Momolk and I to approach the group; we will do so with barriers drawn, but our Carbuncles unsummoned. If all goes well - all goes well. Otherwise, I am nearly a hundred percent certain that the goblins will attempt to flee - at which point, you and Kanna may present yourselves, while we finish summoning our Carbuncles.”

“I assume that we should, if possible, avoid killing the Boilstox?” Kanna asked.

“If possible.” K’lyhia shrugged slightly, the grass around her rustling. “Injuries - severe injuries, even, can always be healed. Of course, if you must deliver a lethal blow in self-defence, there will be no punishment - but you will have to fill out quite a bit more paperwork.”

“A fate worse than death itself,” Momolk added dryly. “Ready?”

“Aye. Kanna’n’I, we’ll take our leave - give us a minute,” Baatar said, nodding.

Baatar and Kanna both got to their feet and scurried off into the distance, each headed to one side of the area the goblins had set up their makeshift encampment. In short order both were in position - visible to K’lyhia, Xomni’to, and Momolk, but still out of view of the goblins. Baatar waved with one hand, a sawn-off blunderbuss in her other, and the three got to their feet, each drawing their tomes and flipping them open to earmarked pages at the front of each book.

“Barriers,” K’lyhia said, filling in the mostly-completed array before her with her quill. Momolk and Xomni’to did the same, and three sets of blue-white hexagonal barriers popped into view around them for a moment before fading away.

“Done. You’ll do the talking?” Xomni’to asked.

“Yes. Let us begin, then.” K’lyhia led the trio forward; the goblins, oddly enough, failed to notice them until they were no more than fifty paces away. One of the squat creatures by the edge of the group scrambled to its feet and began shrieking in goblin-tongue; soon the entire camp was up and eying their new visitors with visible wariness.

“Ho there! Would you merchants happen to be the Boilstox family of traders?” K’ylhia shouted, waving at the group.

The goblins traded weary glances for a long, uneasy moment until the one who’d spotted them originally stepped forward, stopping just out of reach of K’lyhia. It looked up at her, arms crossed, silent save for the heavy, muffled noises of its breath from beneath its gas mask.

“Once again, I ask if you merchants represent the Boilstox,” K’lyhia repeated, this time more forcefully.

“Pshhh - shkohhh - yes, Shiftox Boilstox hears uplander woman’s loudtalks,” the golin said, its voice raspy and nasally. “Pshhh - shkohhh - Boilstox, that is these gobbies. Why?”

“Wonderful. My companions and I,” K’lyhia continued, gesturing at her party “are here on behalf of the Lominsan Port Authority. The Boilstox merchant group is suspected of dealing in contraband - and furthermore, upon receiving instructions to remain within view outside the Zephyr Gate, your group disobeyed and moved here.”

Shiftox shifted uneasily, but made no comment.

“In any case, if you wish to continue trading within Lominsan territory, and remain in the good graces of the Admiralty, you will submit to a thorough search of your goods,” K’lyhia said, pointing at the small pile of wooden crates in the middle of the goblin encampment.

“Why?” Shiftox sputtered.

“Because the Boilstox are suspected of dealing in illegal goods,” K’lyhia replied, tone matter-of-fact.

“Boilstox saleitems are all goodlaw. No - pshhh - shkohhh - nothing, ill-e-gal,” Shiftox stammered, stumbling over the last word. “Uplanders tongueflap falsespeak! Dirty good Boilstox name!”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘besmirch’, and the Boilstox have no good name in our city,” Xomni’to deadpanned. “If they did, we wouldn’t be here in the first place, would we?”

Shiftox said nothing, sparing (what Xomni’to assumed) was a withering glance in his direction as the labored breathing from her mask accelerated.

“In any case, since, as you’ve noted, Shiftox, all of your goods are perfectly legal, our inspection will take no time at all, and you have no reason to worry about our inspection - we shall carry it out, and you will be on your way as though there was no problem to begin with.” K’lyhia took a step forward, and nodded. “Shall we?”

Shiftox looked at K’lyhia, then back at her companions, then at her surroundings-

“-RUN!” Shiftox shouted, slipping and scrambling back towards the pile of crates; the goblins began grabbing the crates by their straps and attempted to escape from the area when, with a mighty crack-thoom, Baatar fired one of her guns in the air. At the same moment, Kanna emerged from her hiding spot around the corner of the Cookpot, completing the group’s loose semi-circle which now hemmed the goblins in. Wasting no time, the three arcanists stepped backwards and completed their summoning arrays - and with three whirls of light and aether, three Carbuncles joined the group: the blue shine of Xomni’to and K’lyhia’s emerald-borne familiars, and the yellow of Momolk’s topaz-based construct.

“Throw yer knives and yer grenades down, and we won’t have t’hurt any’ve ye,” Momolk shouted, picatrix opened to a Miasma array. “Resist, and we’ll fill yer masks with yer liquified innards before ye can even twitch towards yer weapons.”

“Twenty gobbies - pshhh - five uplanders - shkohhh - and many boomsticks! No trouble!” Shiftox shouted back. “Attack!”

The camp remained still.

“Any’ve you shites so much as touch a grenade, I shoot,” Baatar spat, training her blunderbuss on Shiftox. “Ye like lead? I’ve plenty of’t.”

Three of the goblins near the back of the camp threw their daggers down and undid their belts, letting them drop to the grass before raising their hands in the air.

“You three - turn yourselves in at Zephyr Gate, or there will be a great deal of pain in your futures,” Kanna said, tone icy. She watched them scamper off into the distance towards Limsa Lominsa, then returned her gaze to the others, hand never leaving her sword.

“Nobody else wishes to surrender?” K’lyhia asked. “I assure you - you will be treated far more kindly by the Lominsan authorities if you simply surrender, as your fellows already have.”

Another two goblins threw their weapons away and scurried off to join their fellows.

“Pshhh - fifteen gobbies, five uplanders, still - shkohhh - many boomsticks! Attack! Attack!” Shiftox shrieked, drawing a dagger and grabbing a grenade from her belt; before she could prime it with the lighting-strip on her hip, K’lyhia launched a Ruin spell at Shiftox’s waist. The unaspected aether warped the lighting-strip, but Shiftox - and several other goblins, now - continued their charge towards the arcanists before Xomni’to’s carbuncle let loose a mighty wave of wind that sent the goblins tumbling away. Momolk, standing at the rear of the group, began spreading underpowered Miasma and Bio spells across the entire goblin group; soon all fifteen goblins were screeching as toxins began eating away at them - not powerful enough to render them unconscious or kill them, but more than enough to cripple some and wound others. All the while, the siblings pelted the beastmen with low-level Ruin-spells: particularly painful, but non-lethal.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Baatar and Kanna moved in from the sides, methodically knocking out as many goblins as they could non-lethally. Kanna worked her way though the group, using a mix of well-aimed kicks and careful slashes with her katana to leave her foes with superficial, though painful wounds; Baatar, on the other hand, simply charged through the goblins on her side of the camp, using the flat side of her axe as well as its haft as a bludgeon, hitting hard enough to send the goblins in her path to the ground with broken bones and shattered gas masks - anathema to the goblins, who found the smell of the air unbearable.

“STOP! STOP!” Shiftox screeched, throwing her blade and belt to the ground. “NO MORE!”

The sounds of fighting stilled, and the camp filled with the sounds of laboured breathing and pained groans from the goblins; of the fifteen goblins in the camp, only three - including Shiftox - were still standing, and all had surrendered their daggers, willingly or otherwise.

“There,” Baatar spat, gun still moving from goblin to goblin, “were that so hard?”

“Pssshhh - smelly, unfair, cheatsy, stupid uplander - shkohhh - scum,” one of the goblins - whose gas mask had been smashed open by Baatar’s axe - managed, in between laboured breaths.

“You brought this upon yourselves,” Xomni’to replied, shaking his head. “Nobody forced you to deal in contraband. In any case, all of you will remain still while we bind you. Baatar, Kanna, Momolk, if you don’t mind - keep an eye on these folks, eh?”

“My pleasure,” Baatar said, nodding.

Xomni’to and K’lyhia got to work binding each of the goblins’ hands and legs with thick cords of rope, and in short order - despite the loud protests - all but two of the goblins were bound. They were about to move onto the next when out of the corner of her eye, Baatar noticed the last unbound goblin of the group slide the lighting-strip on its belt out of its loop, inching it slowly towards one of the grenades tucked into a pouch on its back.

“OI! YOU!” Baatar shouted, gun snapping to the goblin’s head. “Stop, now, or-!”

With a screech the goblin jerked its hands towards the grenade, trying to light it with the strip; the grenade’s fuse-tip sparked, but failed to light. Without a moment’s hesitation Baatar fired her shotgun at the goblin, hitting it with a nearly full load of shot; it crumpled to the ground unceremoniously, body riddled with bullet holes.

“Anyone else want t’try me patience?” Baatar shouted, holstering the gun and reloading her first blunderbuss. “Got enough shot fer all’ve you.”

None of the goblins answered, and the only remaining goblin let himself be bound without trouble. Stepping back, K’lyhia nodded approvingly as she surveyed the group’s handiwork.

“Well enough, then. I suppose we should be content with only a single casualty amongst your number. For the report, might I ask who was the unfortunate soul who was shot by my companion here?”

“Sixth son - psssshhhh - of mine,” Shiftox said, shaking her head.

“My condolences,” Kanna said slowly.

“Though I do not hesitate to point out that if your son had indeed lit that grenade, I doubt many of us would still be here,” K’lyhia added, shrugging.

“No need - psssshh - for sorrysaying, hornhead uplander. Stupid boy,” Shiftox replied without a hint of waver in her voice. “Leave - shkohhh - body here for animals.”

“I... if you’re certain,” Kanna muttered.

“A moment, then, while I linkpearl for an escort cart,” K’lyhia said, pressing her fingertips to her left ear. “Ah - yes, this is Foreseer Yudah, requesting a cart for fifteen goblins and - seven, no, eight small crates of goods. No, we are presently at the Cookpot. Yes. Of course. Thank you.” She looked up, and smiled at the others. “A cart is en-route, and in short order we shall have these goblins in custody, and these goods locked up. Speaking of which - we have an inspection to do.” The Seeker of the Sun glanced at her fellow arcanists, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I assume that you would care to test the efficacy of your current arrays against what paltry defenses and countermeasures our suspects have no doubt erected to safeguard their contraband?”

“I look forward to seeing what we find,” Xomni’to said, nodding crisply. With silent commands, Xomni’to and Momolk sent their Carbuncles over to the pile of crates in the middle of the camp; the pair of blue and yellow familiars began circling the pile, sniffing at the air and glowing faintly as they sensed the aether around them, stopping at one crate near the middle of the pile.

“Oi, Shiftox - what’ll be in that crate?” Momolk asked.

“Better to be truthful, I think,” Xomni’to added.

“Pssssshhh - ores,” the goblin muttered after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ores - and, of course, you have the shipping permits and licenses associated with all of them? What sorts of ores?” K’lyhia pressed. “I put the chances of you and your companions here fighting us over some rocks to be well below ten percent.”

“Manyrocks in movingbox, uplanders. Boilstox - shkohhh - not open movingbox after moneygiving to rockdiggers,” Shiftox replied.

“An empty answer,” K’lyhia said, frowning. “Well, we shall find out soon enough. Any traps, or the like? Or will we be finding that out for ourselves?”

“No, no traplocks in movingbox,” Shiftox grumbled.

“All the same - given the odds, I would advise exercising caution,” K’lyhia called out.

Xomni’to directed his carbuncle to climb up the top of the crate and examine it; it paced around the top of the crate for several moments, before hopping back down and pulsing faintly.

“Nothing untoward,” he murmured. “Well enough, then.” Stepping forward, he carefully undid the latches of the crate and lifted the top, revealing a stack of various unrefined ores; he frowned, humming as he began tapping the rocks. He paused, then pulled several of the ores out, setting them gently on the ground until, with most of the top layer cleared away, he found another latch halfway into the crate. He pulled on it, and a second, hidden compartment in the box popped out of the side - revealing the unmistakable sight and faint yellow glow of earth-aspected crystals.

“Crystals,” Xomni’to hissed, his tail going straight.

“Psssshhh - crystals? Crystals?! Uplanders - shkohh - pssshhh - gobbies not know about moneygiving for crystals,” Shiftox said, shaking her head frantically as the other goblins began shouting in goblin-tongue. “Boilstox moneygive for firesand, not crystals!”

“A likely story,” Baatar spat. “Wot’ll these be for, eh? These’ll be earth-aspected, aye! Plannin’ to pass these ‘long to the kobolds? How daft are ye?”

“No - no! Gobbies not want to give crystals to kobolds,” Shiftox continued, tone pleading. “Gobbies live here, too! Beastgods bad for business. Crystals bad, too. Shiftox moneygives much coin for firesand - not dirtcrystal!”

The camp descended into uneasy silence for a long moment, and was only broken by the sound of an incoming chocobo-cart. K’lyhia turned to see the cart and several Yellowjacket officers coming up past the bridge towards them, and she returned to Shiftox with a hard gaze.

“Well, I hope you have manifests of sale and the like, because the penalty for smuggling earth crystals is far, far worse than the sale of firesand,” K’lyhia hissed. “I place your odds of making it out of this ordeal with your life, let alone your business intact, at well below one percent without bills of sale to back your story up.”

“Boilstox - psssshhhhh - Boilstox has paperwritings of moneygiving, yes!” Shiftox said frantically, “and names of crystalsellers too! Boilstox will name names, point fingers, pull masks! All uplander must do is believe Boilstox, for her tongueflaps are good!”

“For your sake, I hope you are not lying.” K’lyhia waved down the officers as some of them dismounted from the cart, and gestured at the goblins and the crates. “Guardsmen - we have several crates of goods, including some smuggled earth crystals. If you would assist us in loading these goods and our prisoners into the cart, that would be much appreciated.”

“At once, ma’am,” one of the roegadyn guardsmen said.

The guards got to work loading the crates in the cart first; Kanna stood with Shiftox as they worked, and knelt down besides the goblin.

“I - I just wanted to say that I wish we could have resolved this without the death of your son,” Kanna said slowly.

Shiftox shrugged, a small gesture. “Hornhead uplander not understand. Gobbies have many family. Sons, daughters, all come and go like jinglyshines. And - all gobbies one of two things: smart, or loyal. Never two. Boilstox smart gobbie. Other gobbies loyal...”

One of the goblins, who the guards were now herding onto the cart, jerked towards one of the soldiers and made a sound that indicated he had horked a glob of spit, which failed to do anything besides clog his gas mask. It took the goblin a second to realize his mistake before he started pawing at his mask in a futile attempt to drain it.

“Hornhead sees what Boilstox means?” the goblin-ringleader said flatly.

“But... wait, your species always wears those masks, how-?”

“He uptakes from watchlearn uplanders. Like Boilstox say: quickminds, or longstays. Not two,” Shiftox muttered as one of the guards gestured for her to step forward.

“Three kinds of goblins, y’ask me,” Baatar said, scratching her butt with her tail. “Smart, loyal - and th’ones what think they’re smart.”

“A surprisingly astute observation, Baatarsaikhan,” K’lyhia added. “I imagine, Kanna, that you can guess which ones have the most loyal following.”

“Wait. The fuck you mean, ‘surprisingly?’ That’ll be an insult, won’t it,” Baatar groused.

“It was not meant as an insult,” K’lyhia said slowly, eyes searching Baatar’s face. “In my admittedly limited time conversing with you, I have noted that most of your utterings are insults, threats of violence, or a combination of the two. I will, however, readily admit that my data set lacks enough information for me to say that I could apply my previous comment to you in general.”

“I - were that an apology?” Baatar asked, sighing.

“I am unsure. Is an apology required if no offense was meant, or given?”

“Y’know what? Never mind. So,” Baatar said happily as the Shiftox joined the last of the goblins in the cart, “what now?”

“Now, we return to the city,” K’lyhia said, waving at the guards as the cart began to drive into the distance.

A quick teleport later, and the group rematerialized in the Aetheryte Plaza, which was full of tourists, travelers and citizens going about their business; the group moved off to one side, and sat down at a free bench.

“Well, that was...odd,” Kanna said, rubbing at her horns. “Do most inspections go like that?”

“No,” K’lyhia said with a shrug. “I would wager from memory alone that ninety percent - likely more - of inspections are simple checks without incident. To consort with a known smuggler - and encounter armed resistance - is statistically quite rare, I assure you. Now, we must return to the guild and fill out the requisite paperwork which follows an inspection which has contained as many...revelations as today’s.”

“Twelve’s shite,” Momolk groaned, “there’s gonna be a ton’a the stuff, won’t there.”

“Yes, there will. At least thirty pages,” K’lyhia explained cheerfully.

“In triplicate!” Xomni’s tail swished eagerly as he wrung his hands together. “Some may view paperwork as being boring, but I can’t possibly imagine why. I find the repetition and monotony to be blissfully soothing.”

Baatar stared at her brother with a violently twitching eye before grabbing her raen-cousin’s shoulders and swinging her around to face her. “Kanna,” she stated solemnly. “If I ever say a good word ‘bout filling out forms, ye take me shotgun and ye blow me brains out, y’hear?”

“Yes. Yes, you have my word, if you promise you will show me the same mercy,” Kanna said distastefully.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hesitate to blow yer brains out yer skull.”

“...you mean blow my brains out... if I start saying good things about paperwork, yes?”

“That too.”

“I...eurgh.” Kanna clamped her fingers down on the bridge of her nose. “Let’s... let’s just go home? Please?”

“Well that’ll depend, wont’t? K’lyhia, do these two have t’be stayin’ to do paperwork?”

“No, they do not - if their input is required, they will receive a notification by mail. Otherwise,” K’lyhia noted, “you two are free to leave. In any case, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Minamoto, and I am sure we shall see each other again soon. And a good day to you, Baatarsaikhan.”

“Nhama be blessed,” Baatar said, hands clasped in prayer. “Thanks be t’ye. Well, I’ll be at home nappin’ or summat. What’ll you be doin’, Kanna?”

“I would like to go home and change, I think,” Kanna said. “If you’d like to do something later - well, perhaps I will drop by and see if you are awake.”

“Don’t count on it,” Xomin’to scoffed, waving as they left Baatar and Kanna behind.

 

K’lyhia and the Molkohs returned to the guild in short order; once there, they weaved through the usual crowds of inspectors-arcanists and merchants who were in the lobby, and made their way up to the guild’s reception desk. Catching sight of them, Murie gestured at them to wait a moment while she finished dealing with a pair of lalafellin merchants. A minute or so later, she waved them off, and grinned at the trio.

“Well, well, I heard the news - well done, you three,” Murie said, nodding.

“Thank you, Murie,” K’lyhia replied, frowning sightly. “Though I wish the inspection could have resolved itself without violence - or the discovery of earth crystals being smuggled beneath our noses.”

“Well, we found ’em, no?” Momolk offered. “That’ll be worth somethin’, I wager.”

“Aye, but we’ve known - or at least suspected - the Boilstox of bein’ smugglers for many a year,” Xomni’to replied. “Assuming the goblins weren’t lying about their lack of knowledge regarding the crystals - who knows how long they could’ve been smuggling the things? Without even knowing’t?”

“That’s….that’ll be a hard thing to swallow,” Murie sighed. “Well - either way, this matter’s been sent topside to the Admiralty. In the meantime, I’ve a gift for you three.” The hyuran woman ducked beneath the counter for a moment, and popped back up carrying a thick envelope. “Here you go - paperwork, and plenty of it. Thubyrgeim wants these done before the evening - in triplicate. One for the guild, one for the Admiralty another for the archives.”

“How fitting, then, that there are three of us present to complete these files. Shall we return them to you, Murie?” K’lyhia asked, as she took the thick packet of papers.

“Aye, just so,” Murie replied.

Humming happily to herself, K’lyhia led the Molkohs into the rear of the guild’s main floor and over to one of the countless workstations laid out by the library. The group managed to find a free table near the back of the library - close to where the administrative section of the guild began - and, once Momolk fetched a large cushion from a nearby box, sat down to begin the long, arduous process of filling out the small mountain of papers Murie had burdened them with. For their parts, K’lyhia and Xomni’to began working in quiet comfort, settling easily into a rhythm of scratching quills and thumping stamps. Momolk actually outpaced the two; while she’d filled out her share of paperwork -for the guild, for the Molkoh & Kha company and while helping Idertuuya, Oyuun and Terbish set up their own businesses, she’d never shared her brother’s love of the thing.

“Oi. Can we be takin’ a break, or summat?” Momolk grumbled, kicking her legs against the top of her riser-cushions and glaring at the still-gargantuan pile of papers in front of her.

“It has been less than a single bell,” K’lyhia replied. “Though, I admit, you have gotten further ahead than either your brother or I. What section are you on? I have just finished the Incident Report.”

“Already onto ‘Recommended Course of Action.’ Tellin’ the Admiralty to keep an eye out fer others what might be shipin’ earth-crystals, or the like,” Momolk explained. “Like before - if the Boilstox weren’t lyin’ or nothin’, who’s to say there won’t be other folk carryin’ ‘round crystals headed to the beast-tribes, eh?”

“The real problem,” Xomni’to continued as he adjusted his monocle, “is figuring two things. One - how long’s this been going on for? The Boilstox gave us some names, indeed, but who’s to say their supplier’s th’only one what’s been doing this? Two - if there’s folks smuggling crystals, or other such goods without even tellin’ their clients - who’s to say how many people’d be doing such a thing? It’d be easy for them t’just slip a few extras in with the usual contraband, or even the legal goods.”

“A problem indeed, though not one that I think falls within the purview of the Arcanists,” K’lyhia noted. “Responsibility there lies with the Yellowjackets, Maelstrom and the Admiralty as a whole, does it not? Our duty remains the same - inspect goods, protect Limsa Lominsa.”

“True, aye,” Momolk muttered. “Don’t mean I like it anyhow. And you never did say if I’d be havin’ a break or nothin’.”

“Well, considering you are ahead of both of us, I don’t think there will be an issue if you require some time to rest,” K’lyhia said, shrugging.

“Not restin’ - I’ll just nip out to the markets - you two want anythin’?”

“I am feeling a little thirsty, but water will suffice,” K’lyhia replied.

“Coffee, if you can find any nearby,” Xomni’to added. “Straight, please.”

“Right. I’ll be back!” Momolk turned herself to the side and jumped off her chair, and made for the section of Hawkers’ Alley that was closest to the guild. In short order she arrived at Rhenmoth’s - a small stand which served little more than tea, coffee and whatever baked goods the wizened Roegadyn proprietor of the stand could get his hands on. As it was, the late afternoon was something of a dead-zone for the stall - too late to catch workers needing a snack mid-shift, and too early to snag folks wanting a light snack instead of a dinner - and so Momolk had only to wait for a few patrons to finish before it was her turn in line. Clambering up onto a stepstool, Momolk looked up at Rhenmoth with a smile.

“Afternoon t’ye, Rhen,” Momolk said, nodding. “How’s the day?”

“Ah, Momolk! I haven’t had the pleasure’a yer coin in a while, eh?” Rhenmoth leaned forward slightly on the counter of his stall to be closer to Momolk, and adjusted his glasses. “Aye, months, maybe. I’s seen ye go ‘round these parts, I has, but never buyin’ or nothin’. You been busy, what with yer mum’s brewery?”

“No, nothin’ like so - I’ll be an adventurer now,” Momolk explained proudly. “A real hero, mhmm.”

“Oh - oho! That so, eh? Well I’ll be. I remember when you’n yer brother were tiny folk, runnin’ round the streets, and the like. Come a long way, I’d wager. Anyhow - you here for food, then?”

“Just so. Two coffees, light, one plain and one with enough milk that it’ll be cream-coloured, and sugar, ‘til the stuff’ll be havin’ trouble dissolvin’,” Momolk noted. “Maybe more, if y’dont mind’t.”

“That’s...that can’t be good for the body,” Rhenmoth said, scratching his chin. “I mean - your gil, your choice - but, y’know, I can’t talk y’out of’t?”

“No.”

“At all?”

Momolk sighed. “Look, I can be goin’ somewhere else-”

“-fine, fine, it’ll be your gut you’re rottin’. Anythin’ else?”

“Pastries, if y’have them. Sweeter the better.”

Rhenmoth knelt beneath his counter - which meant that Momolk was looking at the top of his head - and rumbled with laughter.

“There a number you want? Or should I just be throwin’ all of’em at ye?”

“A dozen’ll do me fine,” Momolk replied, sniffing delicately. “I might even deign to share some of them with my colleagues.”

“A hero indeed,” Rhenmoth snorted. “Seven hundred gil, if you please, with two-hundred-fifty on return of my precious mugs, milady.

“Oh, good sir Rhenmoth,” Momolk replied, feigning a swoon, “I cannot believe you would charge such prices for so paltry a selection of goods.”

“Don’t test me,” Rhenmoth replied, rolling his eyes. “Coin, or nothin’ - and I’ll be tellin’ yer mum.”

“Ahh, Idree’s old now, Won’t do nothin’,” Momolk replied as she slid a handful of coins across the counter.

“Will you be needin’ a tray or summat to be carryin’ this shite?” Rhenmoth asked, gesturing to two wooden mugs and a parchment bag he’d set upon the counter.

“Aye, that’d be nice.”

“Just so, then. Y’bring back the goods when yer done, ken?” Rhenmoth piled the goods onto a wooden tray - tiny in his hands, but large enough that Momolk had to stretch to carry it. With caution, Momolk carefully made her way off the stepstool and carried the tray back to the Arcanists’ Guild; she was almost ready to set the tray down and open the doors with the set of rungs placed lalafellin height, but a handful of merchants exited the building before she had to do so.

Soon enough she pushed through the doors leading into the library and returned to the group’s workstation; K’lyhia and Xomni’to were both busy scribbling away, eyes firmly locked onto their paperwork even as they conversed.

“-so, you agree, then?” K’lyhia asked.

“Yes. I think it would be, at the very least, an interesting experiment,” Xomni’to replied with a sage nod. “Any enjoyment to be found thereafter, we could consider a bonus.”

“Oi, oi, what’s this, then? Experiments?” Momolk asked eagerly. “Yer not leavin’ me outta some fun, are ye?”

“Oh, you’ve returned.” K’lyhia nodded and smiled as Xomni’to leaned down from his chair to grab Momolk’s tray. “Well, I’m not sure that our experiment accounts for your presence. Xomni’to and I have decided to have dinner together, in the custom of two individuals acting as dining partners.”

“Oh, well that’s perfectly understanda - wait, you wot?” Momolk replied, snapping her head around in shock. “Mighta taken a hit to me noggin a while back. Say't again?"

“Dinner between K'lyhia and I, sister. I was under the impression that such things were common?” Xomni’to noted. “Is there an issue?”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Is...K’lyhia, you won’t be talkin’ ‘bout a date twixt you an’ me brother, eh?” Momolk said, tone neutral.

“A date?” K’lyhia paused, her ears twitching in thought for a moment. “Ah, well, I suppose that that would be the common vernacular for this event, wouldn’t it? In any case, two individuals participating in a date needn’t be romantically involved, yes?”

“Uh, aye,” Momolk replied, nodding slowly. “I s’pose that’ll be true, technically.”

“Just so, then,” Xomni’to replied with a shrug.

Momolk stared at the two miqo’te sitting across from her, concern and amusement slowly stretching across her face.

“So, uh, this, ehe, ‘date’ of yours, uh, you’ll be doin’ this t’night?” Momolk asked, returning to her paperwork. “Just curious, I am.”

“Yes. The two of us have not decided upon a venue,” K’lyhia noted, “though I assume it will be in one of the finer establishments in town. I would also ask that, if you wish to observe the proceedings, you do so from a distance so as to avoid compromising the integrity of our findings.”

“The goal, after all,” Xomni’to continued, “is to examine how the two of us interact in a, if not private, at least more personal setting.”

“Oh. Oh, right, right, that’ll be, uh, no trouble,” Momolk replied, doing her best not to betray her laughter. “No trouble at all.”

“That is good. I would be concerned if this was a problem,” K’lyhia said, smiling. “Thank you for being considerate about the matter.”

By the chronometer hanging from a nearby post, Momolk managed to continue working on her papers for another ten minutes - until she could wait no more.

“Look, I’ll just be finishin’ up the third-last section of me work,” Momolk said, breaking the silence. “Honestly, I’m right conked after all the work t’day - you two mind if I’ll be leavin’ to rest or summat?”

“No, it is no trouble. I’ll be happy to finish those for you,” K’lyhia replied. “Thank you once again for your prompt assistance with today’s inspection. Perhaps I shall have the luxury of working with you soon?”

“Prolly,” Momolk replied, before finishing the rest of her coffee. “Adventurin’s a thing I like, but I don’t really see me’n the others goin’ far away anytime soon. Eh, Xomni?”

“Aye, just so. I’m sure we will be available in the future,” Xomni’to noted. “Will you be returning home?”

“Mmm. Might check into th’brewery, then take a nap or summat. See you two, a’right?” With a wave, Momolk hopped off her chair, pulled the cushion from her seat and returned it to her box before walking briskly out of the guild. The second she’d made it beyond the doors of the library her walk became a run, then a full-on sprint towards the aetheryte outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks!
> 
> Apologies for the late update; a bunch of other stories have been taking up my time. (I plan on moving them to AO3 in the near future - stay tuned!) In any case, Cyx has been on something of a hiatus for several months and I hope to restart regular work on it within the next week or two. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you'll stick around for more!


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